Zephyr Ghosts
by Eurydice11
Summary: Sequel to The Hunt. Starting 1 week after the cleansing, Buffy & Spike are back in Sunnydale. Both of them are having dreams--hers prophetic, his nightmares--but that's only the beginning. B/S, G/O. *COMPLETE*
1. Breath

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy was kidnapped by a Greek half-man/half-demon (Daymon, the bad guy) who needed her as the host for his demon in a cleansing ritual.  Spike got snatched at the same time, and during their time together, the Slayer realized her true feelings for the vampire, as well as learning of his feelings for her.  They met and befriended Cortina, who lived in a series of caves out in the California desert, only to be separated when Spike got snatched by a crazy witch determined to use him for her own means.  Buffy rescued him, but at the expense of getting back into Daymon's clutches.  The Scoobies raced to save her, but arrived too late.  Spike interrupted the ritual and inadvertently took the demon's place, temporarily becoming human while Buffy housed his vampire demon.  The ritual was able to be reversed though, and everyone lived happily ever after.  Except for Daymon and the witch, who were both killed.  Oh, and Giles and Cortina fell for each other in a hard way.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This is a sequel to my first fic, The Hunt, and will most likely not make any sense to a reader unless that's been read first.  If you haven't read that and would like to, it can be found on my website at www.loveslastglimpse.com.  Be aware that it is NC-17 rated there; if you need to read an R-rated version, please let me know and I will direct you appropriately.  Because I've already hooked Buffy and Spike up, obviously I'm going AU from the show from this point on, although I will be incorporating certain aspects and/or plotlines from the rest of Season 5 into this story.  As most everything I write, this is primarily Buffy/Spike, but there will be a strong element of Giles/Cortina in at as well.  I'm also going to go out on a limb here and say, this will most likely not be a very light fic.  I don't anticipate it being super-heavy, but I'm pretty sure you'd never be able to call it fluffy.  That being said, I hope you enjoy…

*************

It breathed.  With gentle palpitations against her bare arms, the air around her resonated in a quiescent whisper that spoke of frailty and despair, relaxing her vigilance to the point where her arm lowered, the weapon in her hand forgotten.  _We are not your enemy, it seemed to say.  __To oppose us would be to slaughter your own innocence._

I'm not an innocent, she wanted to respond, but the words caught in Buffy's throat, fixed in melancholy silence, her hazel eyes sweeping over the desolate landscape.  In daylight, she didn't doubt that it could be quite beautiful---callow knolls punctuated with the occasional shrub, the bent forms of flower stems bowing in the breeze---but in the advent of the storm, the sky hung low, a sepulchral study of death, with portentious clouds blanketing the earth.  This was not beautiful.  This was a warning.  And Buffy hadn't survived being the Slayer for the past five years by ignoring the obvious.

His arm slid around her waist, his skin somehow capturing what little light there was to gleam in a pale splendor, and she felt the feather touch of his lips on the curve of her neck.  "I'm goin' to say this one's courtesy of your Slayer subconscious," Spike murmured, his mouth mere millimeters from her ear.

Buffy nodded.  "I don't think you've experienced one of these yet," she said, her voice equally low.  Anything louder would have seemed a sacrilege to the barren surroundings.

"Hate to break it you, but I've been poppin' into these dreams of yours for a week now," the vampire reminded, his amusement evident.

"Not one of these.  Those were just normal, Buffy-working-through-her-stress-type dreams.  I'll lay you two to one that this one's a prophetic Slayer dream."

Two sets of eyes watched as the grasses undulated in the wind, quickening their dance as it began to gain momentum, catching the tendrils of the Slayer's hair to float raggedly in the breeze.  "And it's tellin' you…what?" Spike asked.  "That it'll be windy tomorrow?  Thought that's what the weather channel was for."

"No."  She leaned back against his chest.  "Can't you feel it?  There's something…here."

His senses reached out, searching the night sky for any signs of a presence, human or otherwise, but found nothing.  Spike frowned.  This was the only place he and Buffy didn't share experiences, this netherworld of their dreams, and it was only here that he felt so completely cut off from her, devoid of the life that she breathed into him during their waking hours, returned to his pre-cleansing state of being utterly alone.  He had yet to decide if he liked it or not.

"Do you know what it is?" he asked.

She shook her head.  "But it's trying to tell me something.  I just can't understand what.  I don't suppose you speak wind?"

His sapphire gaze glanced down at the sword in her hand.  "Probably sayin' 'please don't kill me,' though I think Excaliber there might be a tad over the top for the job."  His hand came up, smoothed her hair down over her shoulder, trying his best to tame it against the wind, but it was a losing battle.  Even as he did so, the air grew more virulent, and the whispers it had been sharing earlier began to turn into screams.

Buffy's eyes darted around, knowing that they were not alone, unable to find the owners of whoever had summoned her to this place.  How can you fight what you can't see? she wondered, and took a tentative step forward.  Almost immediately, she was buffeted back, slamming into the vampire behind her, sending them both sprawling to the ground.

"What the bleedin' hell was that?" Spike growled as he stumbled to his feet, his hand automatically going out to assist the Slayer up as well.

"_That is what's trying to talk to me," she replied, and lifted the blade again, readying herself for whatever battle seemed to lay before her._

"What did you do to piss it off?"

She glanced back at him.  "What makes you think it was me?" she queried.  "Maybe it was pissed off before I got here."  His cocked eyebrow was his only response, and Buffy rolled her eyes as she turned away.  "Not like these dreams ever make any sense anyway," she muttered.  "For all I know, the whole thing is just one big metaphor."

"First time I ever fought a metaphor," Spike said, joining her at her side.  "'Bout time I had a challenge."  

The grin he shot her was enough to bring a smile to her lips, and she shook her head in mock dismay.  "Big-headed vampires are always the first ones to get staked," she taunted.  

"Oooo," he said, pursing his lips before burying his mouth in the curve of her neck.  "That a promise?"

The tremors that went through her body seemed to echo against his skin, and Buffy sighed as his tongue lapped gently at the scar on her neck, tilting her head to allow him better access.  "I'm working here, Spike," she murmured.

"Workin' usually happens when you're awake," he laughed.  "I think this qualifies as playin'."  He felt her stiffen in his arms, and looked up, eyes ready to search the horizon for whatever menace had captured the Slayer's attention, his own muscles freezing when he saw the spectre hanging before them.

"Somehow, I don't think it's in the mood for tiddlywinks," Buffy commented, as she separated herself from the vampire's embrace.

It hung there, a diaphanous dance that shimmered in spite of the lack of light, neither male nor female, yet somehow eerily both.  Instead of eyes, two endless pools of ebony gaped back at them, and its mouth was a lipless hole, locked in a palsied scream that sang of sadness, a silent cry for ears that would never hear it.

"Who are you?" Buffy asked, not really expecting a response, but desperate for some sort of reaction, something she might be able to use.

_I am all.  Its mouth didn't move, but the words were unmistakeable._

"All?" she quizzed.  "Isn't that laundry detergent?"

_I am all, it repeated.  __As are you._

"OK, now I _know it's a metaphor," Buffy groused.  She glanced back at Spike.  "You were the poet.  What the hell is it talking about?"_

He shook his head.  "Bugger if I know," he said.  "Things were a little more literal back then."

_You must go.  _

"Wish I could," she replied, turning back to face the spectre.  "But I don't usually get a say in these matters."

_You must go._

"Broken record much?"  She sighed, the sword in her hands lowering just ever so slightly as her annoyance began to fester.  "I heard you the first---."

It slammed into her stomach, drilling her backward onto the ground, pinning her to the cold earth with invisible fetters, and she felt the first drops of rain begin pelting her from the sky.  Spike's voice seemed to come to her as if from far away.

"Buffy!"

But she was helpless, unable to move except for the blinking of her eyes as she tried to shield them from the icy onslaught of the heavens…

*************

It was only her ceiling.  No rain.  No clouds.  Definitely no wind.  Just the plain and simple white of her bedroom ceiling, staring back at her as if to ask what the hell was wrong.  The sensations from the impact to her gut were already fading, drifting into the ether of the dawn, and she glanced over at her closed curtains, spying the faintest filaments of orange already beginning to peek through.

Though she was alone in the room, Buffy knew that Spike still slept, probably off in his own dreams by this point, and marvelled yet again on this strange side effect from the ritual.  Ever since the aborted cleansing a week earlier, every time one of them started dreaming, the other would join in---provided, of course, that he or she was sleeping at the time---and they would experience the dream together.  It was weird.  In many ways, it was as if they were still awake, like they'd been prior to their time in Greece, just spending time being together, with the exception of how they interacted with whatever was happening in the dream.  So far, Buffy had had to help Spike kill a group of motorcycle demons, while he in turn had been forced to follow her around while she chased Brian Boitano for his autograph.  He was still making her pay for that one.

Tossing back the blanket, Buffy hopped from her bed and strode over to the window, ready to throw open the curtains to face the morning but already feeling the urge to leave them drawn.  That was another thing she'd noticed.  All of a sudden, sunlight made her feel squicky, and she found herself avoiding it when she could.  Not that it hurt or anything; it was more like being aware of its potential dangers more than anything else.  Probably just leftover vampire crap, she'd decided.  It'll just pass in time.

Have to remember to tell Giles about the dream, she thought.  Maybe he can make some sense of it.  And, just maybe, it'll bring him back to earth again, help him refocus on the current situation in Sunnydale.  Though she knew why he'd been a little distant since returning---and not that she was begrudging him any kind of happiness---Buffy was anxious to get this issue with Glory and Dawn sorted out, the knowledge that they'd lost precious research time because of Daymon and his little ritual all too keen in the Slayer's mind.  Time didn't stand still on the Hellmouth, although, to be honest, if it happened one of these days, she wouldn't really be all that surprised.

*************

His head rested in his hands, his elbows perched on the edge of his desk.  The paper stared back at him, the words bleeding into a black mush, and Giles felt the bile rise in the back of his throat, an acidic burning that seared its path into his nostrils.  He should've known, should've anticipated that they would pull such a stunt, but in the wake of the gang's return from Greece, he had allowed himself to momentarily forget about the bureaucratic beast, savoring instead the new lease on life he'd felt he'd been granted.  Stupid, stupid, stupid, he mentally scolded.  How could I have been so short-sighted?

It wasn't as if he'd even given them all the details; his report had really been just a cursory outline of the events of Buffy's kidnapping.  He'd left out all mention of Cortina, and Celie, and the Slayer's involvement with Spike, yet somehow, they had found out.  How, he had no idea, but here it was, gazing back at him in black and white.  

The tinkling of the shop's bell jerked him from his reverie, and he quickly pulled a book over to cover the paper, hiding the very obvious crest of the Council's letterhead from any errant glances from a passer-by.  He rose when he saw Buffy, stepping away from his seat before she took the time to come to him.  No need to worry her, he decided.  She's certainly under enough pressure right now as it is.

"You look well rested," she commented as she settled into one of the chairs.  "Does this mean no more midnight drives to the desert?"

Giles blushed.  "Cortina had…business," he said.  "And, really, it's none of your concern."

Buffy laughed.  "When you sleep through two of our last three training sessions, I think I get the right to give you a hard time."  She glanced around at the empty shop.  "Where is everyone?"

"Anya asked for the day off, but for what purpose, I didn't have the nerve to ask, and frankly, I stopped listening as soon as she mentioned the word costume.  As for Willow and Tara, I presume they're at classes.  They did say they had a lot of make-up work to do."

A twinge of guilt wiped the smile from the Slayer's face.  "I guess I kinda forgot that life goes on as normal, even on the Hellmouth.  My bad, I'm sorry."

Giles shook his head.  "You've been pre-occupied," he said.  "It's certainly understandable."  He sat down in the chair opposite her.  "I'll probably regret asking this, but where's Spike?"

"At his crypt.  I assume, still sleeping."  Actually, she knew for a fact that the blond vampire was still off in la-la-land, but Buffy kept that confirmation to herself.  She and Spike had decided not to share that aspect of their newfound connection with anyone just yet; it was hard enough for the gang to adjust to them being a couple as it was anyway.  

"I'm afraid without Anya here to mind the store, we won't be able to train today."

She shrugged.  "That's fine.  I have something else for the agenda, if you don't mind."  As she related the details of her dream, taking care to edit out the details about Spike being there, Buffy watched the frown lines on her Watcher's forehead deepen, the blue of his eyes grow increasingly murky.  

"Interesting," he murmured when she finished.  "And you have no idea what summoned you to that particular spot?"

"Nope."

"And there was nothing regarding Glory or this key business in it?"

"Nope."

"Interesting," he repeated, and stood to cross to the nearest bookshelf.  

"Glad you think so," Buffy said.  "'Cause it's bugging the crap out of me."  Her head tilted as she watched him pull out a thick, leather-bound volume.  "So what do you want me to do?" she queried.

"Pardon?"

"What do you want me to do?  I'd rather not be wasting my energy on something other than finding out what's going to get rid of Glory, but if you think this is important…"

"Oh, no."  Giles looked over at his charge.  "Don't worry about the dream for right now.  Concentrate on protecting Dawn.  I'll take care of the research for this.  Unless, of course, you have another dream, in which case we'll have to lay a little more credence to the possibility of some additional danger."

"Good."  Buffy visibly relaxed, sinking back into the chair.  "I was kinda hoping you'd say that."

*************

He was breathing, and it hurt like hell, but somehow, Spike knew that stopping was not an option; stopping would mean certain death.  He walked into the mist, feeling it part before him only to close again as he passed through it, inhaling deeply the musky scents of the cobbled streets, and wished not for the first time that he didn't have to go down that path, that he could choose instead to stop dead in his tracks and just wait for consciousness to return.  But that was not an option, not now, and so his feet moved, inexorably drawing him closer to his destination, yet one more pitstop in the field of his memory.

Buffy knew none of this.  For some reason, this only happened when he slept alone, when he knew Buffy was awake and walking around in the outside world, and he lay alone and unconscious in his bed.  He almost thought it was better that way.  When he'd made that first sojourn, it had scared the rocks out of him, leaving him with an impending sense of panic when he woke up, and Spike had worried that she would sense that, just as she was now sensing everything else that seemed to be going through his head.  She hadn't; she had, in fact, seemed oblivious to the entire experience, prattling on about how Joyce had invited him over for dinner and how thrilled Dawn was going to be when she was officially told about them being a couple.  Thank god for minor distractions.

The house loomed in front of him, its long, thin windows all too familiar, the glint of a candle visible from behind one of the drawn curtains.  Already, his heart was starting to race, his nervousness about walking up those stairs to knock on that particular door crushing the air out of his lungs, and Spike wished bitterly that he didn't always need to be human during these escapades.  Sometimes, there were serious advantages to not needing oxygen, or not feeling a heartbeat, and this definitely qualified as such.  Still, his body climbed the steps, an echo resounding throughout the street each time his boot met the sculpted marble, and he steeled himself to face the house's occupant…

To be continued in Chapter 2:  With Living Hues…


	2. With Living Hues

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  One week after the cleansing ritual, Buffy is having prophetic dreams, while Spike is having nightmares.  Meanwhile, Giles has found out that the Council has learned the whole story of what happened…

*************

If he kept his eyes down, intent on the task at hand, Spike didn't notice how the crypt walls were suddenly too close, the heavy stone too cold, the air too dank.  Gotta start lookin' for a new place, he thought irritably.  Won't do to have Joyce thinkin' I can't make things nice for her firstborn.  Besides, it's 'bout time for a fresh start.  New girl, new life, and all that.  Certainly deserves a new flat.

That would have to wait until tomorrow, because for now, he was already late, the sun's disappearance over the horizon trumpeting dusk's arrival and his own delinquence.  Though he was doing his best not to intrude on Buffy's feelings, giving her as much privacy as possible whenever he could, the annoyance she was currently feeling was crossing the distance between them with little problem, shortening his own temper unnecessarily, causing him to spill the nail polish remover over the coffin's lid.

"Fuck," he muttered, and jumped up before the spreading fluid could reach his trousers, his reach for the nearby towel automatic.  It had taken him too long to decide what to wear to this shindig; no way was he going to go through that nightmare again by getting himself wet.

"What?" he barked when the timid rap rang on his crypt door, too busy cleaning up his mess to realize that someone was actually taking the consideration to knock before barging in.  

He didn't even look up when it creaked open, the dusky illumination from outside casting titian shafts across the floor.  "I'm not…intruding, am I?" came Giles' voice, and Spike's head jerked up, his blue eyes curious to see the Watcher step gingerly over the threshold.

"At least you had the decency to knock," he commented dryly.  "Don't get that very much these days."

Giles hung back, lingering just inside the entrance, his hands stuffed deeply into his coat pockets.  "How are you doing?" he asked.  "I haven't seen you since…"  His voice trailed off, both men knowing to what he was referring.  This was the first time they'd laid eyes on the other since arriving back in Sunnydale, and neither was sure how he felt about that right then.

Spike shrugged.  "All healed up and never better," he said.  "But somethin' tells me you didn't come callin' just to check on my health.  What bug's up your skirt, Rupert?"

Slowly, the older man's hand withdrew from his pocket, bringing with it a folded piece of paper, and he stepped forward to hand it over to the vampire.  "I haven't told Buffy about this, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't, either."  He waited a moment as Spike scanned the letter, the line between his heavy brows deepening until finally the blond looked up to stare at him.  "Obviously, I'm not going to do it," Giles added.  "I want you to rest assured on that."

"Council of Wankers," Spike growled.  "Why in hell did you tell him them in the first place?  None of their bloody business what me and Buffy do."

"I didn't!"  The Watcher's already frayed nerves flared in protest.  "I have no idea how they found out what happened.  Do you honestly believe I'd betray Cortina's confidence in such a way?"

The mention of the Vrolek's name was enough to curb the vamp's irritation.  "S'pose not," he admitted, his gaze returning to the letter.  "Whaddaya think they want with me?"

Giles shrugged.  "If they know the whole story, I'd assume they're interested in seeing what effect the cleansing had on you.  I know it certainly intrigues me."  He cleared his throat.  "But I'm not going to just hand you over to them.  That would be…wrong."

Spike's azure eyes flicked back up to inspect his guest's face, searching for a sign that might betray his last statement as something other than truth.  He knew little about how Rupert might be treating Buffy differently this week; other than saying he was taking nightly trips out to the desert to see Cort, she'd made it sound like everything else was just peachy keen, and Spike had certainly not overstepped the boundaries he'd placed upon himself by deliberately rummaging around her psyche trying to suss it out on his own.  And now here was Giles, offering his support of their relationship by refusing to turn him in to the Council.  Perhaps there might be hope for their future here in Sunnydale after all.

"So if you're not goin' along with them, why're you here?"

Giles sighed.  "Because I thought you ought to be warned.  In case they're not pleased with my response."  He held up a finger in warning.  "You are _not to tell Buffy about this.  She has more than enough to worry about right now with Glory, and if this most recent dream of hers proves to be more than just a passing fancy---."_

"She told you 'bout that, huh?  Thought she might."

"Yes."  The Watcher's frown was immediate.  "How do you know about it?  She said you were still sleeping when she stopped by this morning."

Inwardly, Spike groaned.  Bugger.  He was goin' to have to be more careful about saying shit like that 'til Rupert learned the whole story.  If that ever happened.  "She came by this afternoon," he offered, his impassive face masking the lie more effectively than his voice.  "Told me about it then."  He handed the letter back to Giles.  "You better hang onto this.  Wouldn't want Buffy running across it when she's around."

"When she's…?  Oh, yes.  Of course."  Carefully, he replaced the paper back into his coat, half-turning before hesitation checked his movement.  Now is the perfect opportunity, the Watcher thought.  It really wouldn't require anything more than a few choice words, and then it was out there, and everyone could go on with their lives.  "Spike…"

The vampire saw the struggle behind the lenses of the other man's glasses, the clash of years of indoctrination with that which was right before his eyes, and an unfamiliar pang of pity caused him to frown.  "Rupert," he started, "you don't have to---."

"Yes, I do."  Lifting his chin, he turned to face Spike squarely, two sets of blue surveying the other with unfaltering ease.  "This past week, I've never seen Buffy more…"  Focussed?  Happy?  "…at peace.  I'd be a fool to think that it wasn't due to your influence, your…relationship.  I just wanted to say…thank you."  There.  It was done.  Over with.  And most surprisingly, the world hadn't ended.

"I know you haven't exactly been chuffed to bits about me and Buffy," Spike said, his voice low but reassuringly steady.  "And I know how much you'd like to just tell me to bugger off.  That's why I've been keepin' my distance, lettin' you get adjusted to the idea.  But I said it before and I'll keep sayin' it until I don't have a tongue any longer to form the words.  I love Buffy.  The only thing that matters to me is that she's happy."

Giles lowered his head.  "I know."  He couldn't help the wry smile that twisted his lips.  "I have to admit, the prospect of having an ally in dealing with her more…stubborn side is quite appealing.  Perhaps with your help, I might even be able to finally convince her that one doesn't need to train while the World Cup is playing."  The warm ripple of their shared laughter swelled against the stone walls of the crypt.

*************

She was waiting on the front porch as he approached the house, and Spike found himself deliberately slowing his gait as the Slayer rushed towards him, her anger a literal wall that preceded her steps in a relentless drive.  He was almost an hour late, and though he knew she was pissed off, his own annoyance with her was even greater, mostly because he knew that this time, though it wasn't completely his fault, there was no way he could say anything without giving away too much about Giles and the Council.  It was going to take all he had to suss out a way to hide that kind of information from her---not that he thought she went poking around in his head unnecessarily---and he wasn't happy about that prospect.  Fuckin' wankers.

"Where the hell have you been?" she hissed, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the front door.  "Are you _trying to start this off on the wrong foot?  'Cause, gotta tell you, you're doing a brand-spanking great job of it."  She glanced back at him over her shoulder and immediately frowned, jerking him to a stop.  "What are you wearing?" she demanded, pulling open his duster to reveal the chinos and dark blue shirt, carefully tucked into his pants.  Even his trademark skull ring was missing.  "You look like you jumped out of a Gap commercial."_

"What?" he said, looking down at himself, his brow furrowed.  "I was goin' for the please-don't-stake-me-I-promise-not-to-bite-your-daughter-unless-she-asks look.  I thought you'd like it."

"Except you don't look like you," Buffy countered.  "You're trying too hard.  Relax."  With deft fingers, she pulled the shirt from his waistband, smoothing it out over his hips in an attempt to affect a more casual air.

Spike snorted.  "Sorry to break this to you, kettle, but that's a fetchin' shade of black you're wearin'."

"I just want this to be perfect."

"Buffy…"  Grabbing her wrists, he pulled her against his chest, arresting her frenzied attacks on his clothing.  He could feel the pounding cadence of her heart against his skin, and the slight flush high on her cheeks only confirmed the anxiety that was rolling off her in waves.  "Luv, everything'll be fine.  It's not as if your mum's never met me before.  Remember the very heavy axe aimed at my head?"  He matched her small smile and reached up to stroke the hair away from her eyes.  "I've had more cups of her hot chocolate than you think.  Everything's goin' to be right as rain, I promise."

She believed him.  At least, she believed that he thought it would be OK, and for now, that was more than enough.  Leaning her cheek against the hard sculpture of his chest, Buffy sighed.  "Don't even know why I'm so worried," she said.  "Sometimes I think Mom likes you better than me anyway.  I've gotta practically beg for hot chocolate.  You, you just show up at the door and she's giving it away in buckets."

Spike laughed and pressed his lips to the top of her head.  "I keep tellin' you," he chuckled.  "It's the accent.  You American birds are always fallin' for the accent."

*************

The soapy water lapped against his hands with its igneous caress, sliding between his fingers, warming his flesh from the outside in.  Spike hated to admit that he actually enjoyed doing the dishes, found the sensual fashion of the fluid to be incredibly erotic, searing heat combined with slick lubricants that offered promises of more than cleanliness.  Even the very tactile presence of the sponge, rasping against his oiled skin, brought tiny prickles of pleasure, reminding him of dark retreats and even darker nights.  He chuckled silently.  I'm probably the only vamp who ever got a hard-on watching that Palmolive woman natter on about "you're soaking in it," he thought.  Wonder how Buffy would react if she knew?

At his side, the young blonde's face was locked into a grimace, her normally nimble hands fumbling with the towel as she dried off the gravy boat Spike had just placed on the drainer.  "How come we get stuck doing the dishes?" she complained.  "You're the guest.  You shouldn't have to clean up after everything."

"Because it's the polite thing to do," he replied.  "And because your mum went to a lot of trouble with dinner.  It's the least we can do."  His gaze glanced back at the door, the two female voices in the dining room drifting to his ears with the ease of falling feathers.  "Besides," he added, "it gives them a chance to talk about us."

Buffy's eyes widened.  "You think that's what they're doing?" she whispered.  Tossing down her towel, she hurried over to the entrance, pressing herself out of sight against the jamb as she listened in on their conversation.  

"…think now that they're dating, Spike'll let me borrow his jacket?" Dawn was saying.  "It's just the coolest thing.  Nobody at school has anything like it, and I just bet if I were to show up wearing it…"

Stepping back to the sink, the Slayer rolled her eyes.  "Fat lot you know," she said.  "All she's going on about in there is your stupid coat."

"Didn't hear you complainin' about it the other night after patrollin'," Spike replied.  "Fact, I think your exact words were, 'At least this way I don't have to worry about grass stains on my---.'"

"Ssshhh!"  It came out as a hiss, but the twinkle in her eye told the blond vamp that it was more put upon than real, the memory of that night bringing warm flushes to both of their bodies.  As his cock hardened, Spike couldn't help but miss the feel of his black jeans as they would tighten around his crotch, scraping with delicate fingers along the length of his erection.  Buffy was right; the chinos were just not him.

"Willow called and invited us out to the Bronze later," Buffy said.  "She said she and Tara were in need of a little R&R after their marathon homework sessions."

He shrugged.  "Whatever.  I'm easy."  His blue eyes narrowed as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.  "Don't you want to go?"

"I dunno.  It just seems so…"  Her nose scrunched up as she sought the right word.  "…_normal.  Like something I would've done with Riley.  I guess I've never…pictured you in that kind of way before.  All boyfriendy and making with the small talk."_

Her confusion swept over him and Spike brought his hands out of the dishwater, wiping them quickly on a towel before resting them on her hips, pulling her gently against him.  "Not that I'm a big fan of bein' normal," he said, "but just 'cause I'm in your life now, doesn't mean I want you to be letting go of all those things you had before me.  I knew what the Slayer package consisted of when I got into this, so don't be usin' that as an excuse.  I won't let you."  He leaned forward, nipping gently at the end of her nose.  "S'long as I get my fair share, I got no bones with Scooby life."

Buffy's eyes twinkled mischievously.  "Even if I want to double with Xander and Anya?"

He grimaced.  "Don't think I'm ready for _that much normal yet, pet."_

*************

If he had looked up, Giles would've seen the voluminous clouds rolling in from the east, vast piles of black cotton that swarmed across the sky, blotting out the faint pinpricks of the stars with a chilling finality.  Instead, he was lost in thought, hands buried in his pockets in an attempt to keep them warm, head bent as he rushed from his car to his front door.

Though he knew Anya wouldn't be pleased when she discovered he'd closed the shop early, Giles was more than willing to trade her impending moodiness for the satisfaction of having warned Spike of the Council.  Ever since he'd faxed back his reply, the Watcher had been nervous about what his direct refusal of their orders would entail, how they would react to his obvious insubordination.  Yet, demanding that he take the chipped vampire into custody---capture him like some wild animal---just begged to be defied, almost as if by doing so, they were testing his loyalties.  And there was nothing Giles despised more than being used like that.

The wind eddied gently around his ankles as he fumbled with the keys, finally slipping the correct one into the lock and pushing his front door open with a reluctant shove, drawing him into the inky blackness.  It was the wrong darkness for him right now; what he wanted---where he wished to be---was the dry scent of Cortina's cave, the cool shadows that wrapped him in their ever-familiar embrace.  More than that…he wanted her.

This would be the second night since their return from Greece that he hadn't held Cortina's sleeping curves in his arms, and though he certainly appreciated that she had her own responsibilities to take care of, he found himself resenting the time they were apart, wishing instead of being alone in his flat this evening, he could be lounging in her quarters, drinking some of that whiskey she kept hidden, laughing as they debated some of the finer points of Nordic mythology, only to finish the night in her bed…naked…limbs intertwined as her touch elicited responses he'd thought dormant from disuse.  

His wince was almost audible as Giles realized that his body had betrayed him with yet another erection, the mere memory of the white demon's hands more than enough to bring him to full arousal.  Another bloody cold shower, he thought irritably.  I'm going to be so puckered by the time she gets back, I won't even be able to appreciate her.  His hand snaked out, flipping the switch on the wall and throwing the room into brightness, and the Watcher began to pull the coat from his shoulders.

"You're early."  

He froze as her voice floated to him from the kitchen, his pulse rousing from its somnolence to tattoo his skin in shades of heat.  As he stood rooted, Cortina came to the entrance, an amused smile glinting in her pale eyes, and he drank in her white-clad form as if she may at any point vanish.  "You're supposed to be away," he finally managed.

"And you're supposed to still be at the shop," she rejoined.  "How do you expect me to surprise you when you walk in before I can even get started?"

When she turned on her heel and disappeared back into the kitchen, Giles followed her automatically, dropping his coat on the chair as he passed it, all thoughts of a shower gone as elusively as the day.  Though nothing she could be doing in the other room could surpass his pleasure merely at seeing her, his curiosity was piqued, her culinary talents unexpected.  His evening had just taken a turn for the better…_much better…_

*************

They beckoned, with voices of dark and light, calling the children of the wind with unrelenting fervor, while offering the promise of untold felicity should they be found.  Although there had been repasts throughout the years, this---an unexpected delicacy in the lassitude burying this dimension's essence---was too exhilarant to ignore, and so they came, dancing with the breezes as they skated over oceans, rounded over mountains, swept through plains, until finally espying the tumult that was their destination.

How fitting that those who came to feast should do so at the Hellmouth…

To be continued in Chapter 3: Lift Me As a Wave…


	3. Lift Me As a Wave

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Giles has warned Spike that the Council is interested in him.  Buffy and Spike are trying to get on with life as normal, while back at his apartment, Giles has been surprised by Cortina…

*************

The air was peppery to the nose, the heavy spices Cortina had used in the meal still lingering in the room as tenuous motes, and Giles unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirts, rolling up his sleeves to lessen the sudden warmth that suffused his body.  Prior to moving to California, there would've been no way his palate would've survived such a culinary excursion---vegetables he wasn't sure he recognized spiced with herbs he was certain weren't indigenous to human culture---but now, having gorged himself on what was really a fantastic meal, he wasn't sure he could ever look an overdone Sunday roast in the same way again.  And he certainly wouldn't enjoy it.

"So you haven't said," he started, picking up the towel to begin drying the dishes that lay on the drainer.  "Does your being in Sunnydale mean you've concluded your business?"

"It means," she replied, plucking the cloth from his hands to slide her body between him and the countertop, "I missed my favorite librarian."

The corner of his mouth lifted in an embarrassed half-smile, and Giles couldn't help ducking his eyes to avoid the forthrightness of her gaze.  "Ex-librarian," he reminded her.

Her nimble fingers began tracing delicate paths atop his chest.  "You can take the man out of the library," she said, "but you can't take the library out of the man.  So I stand by my statement."

"Do you have to…leave tonight?" he asked, knowing that she could feel his arousal through their clothing and feeling oddly liberated that he didn't mind.

"_Have to…?  Yes, I probably should.  The real question is…__will I?"  There was no mistaking the twinkle in her pale eyes as she glanced up at him, her lips curled into a coy smile, and she firmly took his hand in hers to lead him away from the drying dishes and into the living room._

The scents were less out here, and Giles caught a whiff of the musk he was quickly associating with Cortina's skin, that tangy mixture of heather and freshly turned soil that was so unique to her.  When he felt the sharp prickles in his mouth as it suddenly salivated, his erection jumped, the memory of his tongue on the velvet skin of her inner thigh all too much in the present.  "There is that whole…sunlight issue," he said, swallowing hard.  

"Are you deliberately looking for a reason for me not to stay?" she teased, pressing him down on the couch before curling into his side, lips hovering just over his skin as her breath fanned the side of his face.

"No."  He could barely contain the giggle that rose to his throat as the tip of her tongue darted out to trace his ear.  "Stop that.  I've told you it tickles."

Her chuckle reverberated against his skin as she leaned in closer.  "Telling me not to do something is like waving a red flag at a bull, Rupert."

"I just meant…"…giggle… "…so that we don't have to worry about time…" …giggle… "…your cave might be…"  He grabbed her hand before it could settle in his lap.  "Cortina!  Please!"

Her lip jutted out in a pretend pout.  "And here I thought you'd let me have my way with you if I fed you first.  Remind me to skip the meal next time."

Giles hand curled around her hip, pulling her onto his lap, pressing his arousal into the crack of her ass.  "My only intent is that having your way doesn't get impeded by our concerns regarding time," he murmured.  "I'd rather be able to spend the night enjoying…you, than having to keep one eye on the clock because you've got to get out before dawn."

She laughed.  "Well, at least we agree that neither one of us is planning on sleeping."  Deftly, she extricated his glasses from his face, setting them carefully on the table behind her.

"You're incorrigible," Giles said, shaking his head.

"And you're cute when you use big words," Cortina replied, and leaned forward to press her lips to his.

*************

The sweat dripped between her breasts, tracing the curve to its underside only to continue its track down her abdomen, pooling at the waistband of her jeans in a familiar stickiness.  It wasn't the only part of her that was wet.  Feeling Spike's body pressed up against hers, barely even moving as the rhythm of the song wrapped them in its cadence, the moisture between Buffy's legs was undeniable, seeping through her panties until even she could smell the musk amid all the other bodies on the dance floor.  It wasn't just her, though.  The vampire's erection was evident, even through the baggy chinos, and she ground her hips closer to his, sliding her body in minuscule measures along its length.

Spike chuckled, his mouth on her ear.  "Nobody says we have to stay, luv," he murmured.

She glanced back at the table where Willow and Tara were leaning into each other, giggling over some unheard joke.  "We pull a duck and run, and they're going to think we're no better than Xander and Anya."

Though she couldn't see his face, Buffy knew the vamp was grimacing.  "You know comparin' me to Harris is the surest way to piss me off," he said, only half-joking.

"I know," she laughed, and squeezed him closer.

When the song ended, the pair separated just enough to move back to their table, Spike's hand in the small of her back as he guided Buffy through the throng.  Anyone watching wouldn't have missed the possessive lean of his body as he pulled her chair out for her, leaving his arm across her shoulders as he eased himself onto the adjoining stool.

"I'm thirsty," Willow announced, just a little too loudly.  "What about you guys?"

"Oh, I'm fi---," Tara started, only to receive a sharp elbow in her side.  "Thirsty, yes," she amended, and matched her girlfriend's gaze to look over at Spike.  "I definitely could use a drink."

The vampire rolled his eyes.  "Isn't it just easier to ask me to go?" he asked.  "None of this shimmy shammying about, trying to be all subtle-like."  He rose to his feet and began to walk away.

"What about Buffy's drink?" Willow called out after him.

"Oh, I'm just going to have---."

"---water," Spike finished with her, and ambled off toward the bar.

"So, spill," the redhead gushed once he was out of earshot.  "How're things since you two got all cleansey?"

Buffy couldn't help the smile that spread across her face.  "Things're good.  No freakout from Mom.  Dawn's all, oh Spike is so cool, can I borrow his leather coat.  Even Giles asked how he was today.  I'm beginning to think we came back to some Stepford version of Sunnydale here."

"You two look really good out there," Tara offered.  "Everything just looks like it…fits."

"Well, we definitely have the whole compatible body parts issue under control," she laughed.  "But, you're right.  It fits.  _We fit.  Makes me wonder what the hell I was ever thinking with going out with Riley."  She felt the flash of irritation from behind her, and had to resist the urge to glance back and see the vampire's face.  Every time even a fraction of a memory of her ex flitted across her brain, Spike's temper flared, his inability to hide his dislike for the other man almost comical.  Her mouth opened to continue, when a sudden image of a naked Drusilla dancing with one of her dolls filled her head, the tinny echo of a record player providing the accompaniment overriding the music from the bandstand.  Buffy jerked around, glaring back at the bar, to see the blond vamp smirk as he turned around to pass the cash to the bartender._

A tiny line appeared between Willow's brows as she witnessed the exchange, green eyes darting between the two blondes.  "You…OK?" she asked timidly.

"Fine."  Buffy's hair flew around her as she whirled back to face the two witches.  "I forgot to ask," she went on, changing the subject.  "How's Elvis doing?"

"Good.  Adjusting.  He doesn't like it when I leave him too long, but we haven't been able to come up with a better solution than Cortina's.  Somehow, I'm not sure we could get a six-foot dog covered under our pet deposit."

"And I think Miss Kitty Fantastico might be just a little threatened if we were to bring another pet home," Tara added.  "Especially if it was the demon canine variety."

"Giles is supposed to take us out there tomorrow," Willow said.  "Wanna come?"

"You know, as much as I'd love to, I'm still kind of coming to grips with the whole Giles having a life outside being my Watcher thing.  I'm not sure I'm ready to see him making googly eyes at Cortina just yet."  She only glanced up when Spike came up behind her, balancing a tray of drinks in one hand as he slid onto his seat.  

"Well, I for one am glad Rupert's got a little bit on the side," the vampire commented.  "Might loosen him up, let him appreciate the finer things in life for a change."  A ballad filtered from the speakers, the heavy saxophone rippling over his skin, and he rose, cool fingers brushing against Buffy's cheek.  "C'mon, Slayer," he said.

Tara and Willow watched as the pair drifted back out onto the floor, melding into the other's body with an ease that belied their brief time together.  The blonde witch sighed.  "Do you think they realize they look like they're doing so much more than dancing?"

Willow answered with a small smile.  "Somehow, I don't think they care."

*************

The wind had picked up even more by the time they left the Bronze, the soft rustle having evolved into a blustery gale, whipping Spike's coat around his ankles, sending icy shivers down Buffy's spine.  Hugging her jacket closer around her, the Slayer's steps quickened, rushing down the sidewalk at such a pace that the vampire raced to keep up with her.

"You could still go home," he offered.  "My crypt won't be the warmest place tonight.  You won't hurt my feelings if you pick Mr. Gordo over me."

"Liar."  She flashed him a quick smile.  "Besides, his tail isn't nearly as cute as yours is," she added, and reached inside his coat to pinch the curve of his ass.

Spike jumped, more from surprise than anything else, and a wicked grin cleaved his features.  "You did that 'cause you wanna be spanked, didn't you?" he taunted.  

She felt his body tense and started running just a split second before he did, her laugher floating back to him on the wind.  "Gotta catch me first!"

They ran like that all the way to the cemetery, Spike always just a few steps behind the Slayer, her golden hair a frenetic cloud obscuring her face from his view.  At one point, he knew she slowed to allow him to catch up, but the blond vamp deliberately lessened his own pace, maintaining the distance between them, refusing to give up just yet the spectacular aspect of her pumping legs as they melded into her hips.  It was only when they were mere yards from his crypt door that he put on the extra speed, diving forward to tackle her to the ground, the pair tumbling over the closely shorn grass until a large headstone brought them to a crunching halt.

"You…run like…a girl," Buffy panted, using her momentum to flip him over onto his back.

Spike stared up at her, her chest rising up and down from the exertion, the flush in her cheeks only partially caused by the nip in the air.  Digging his lean fingers into her hips, he pushed her down so that her upper body landed against his with a thump, her breasts crushed against him in taunting pleasure.  "See how fast _you go with five feet of leather draggin' you down," he replied._

Her lips pursed.  "Ooo," she cooed.  "Five feet of leather?  That a promise, or are you just teasing this poor horny Slayer?"

His growl was instinctive, blue eyes darkening to almost black as his pupils dilated with pleasure.  "You've been inside my head," he reminded her.  "You tell me."

The breath caught in Buffy's throat as the sudden sensation of straps around her wrists, the rough edge of a cord trailing over her nipple, flooded her inner eye, and the movement of her lips to his seemed the most natural thing in the world, mouth sucking at the full lower curve as if to swallow it before opening and entangling his tongue with hers.

"Buffy…luv…"  

She didn't know how he did it, made her name sound like dark chocolate smeared across his lips, but it only lit her brighter, her fervor increasing, arms coming up to wrap themselves around his shoulders as she fought to consume him.  

Spike noticed the change in the air first, and tore himself away from her kiss to frown up at the cloud-covered sky.   Gone was the high-pitched squealing of the wind, replaced now by a deadened calm, every particle in the air seemingly frozen, fearful of making a sound lest it should wake some untold beast.  A moment later, Buffy sensed it as well, and twisted her body to gaze around her.  

"Storm's comin'," the vampire said.  "We should get inside while we can."  Rolling her to one side, he clambered to his feet, hand reaching out to help her up as well, but was met with nothing.  "Buffy?" 

"Sshh," she cautioned.  Something was out there, something…familiar, but where it was coming from or even what it was, she had no idea.  She was slightly annoyed she hadn't sensed it earlier, and blamed her over-active hormones for her lapse in concentration.

"Nice to know I'm more interestin' than work," Spike said, his lips twisted into a smirk, answering her unspoken thought as if she'd actually uttered the words out loud.  "But I think you're over-reactin'.  It's just the storm givin' you the heebie jeebies, not some big nasty lurkin' around the corner."

Though she didn't really believe him, Buffy rose to stare around the deserted graveyard, her hand slipping automatically into his as he began pulling her toward the crypt, away from whatever was causing her skin to crawl.  Nothing jumped out at them along the way; no bolt of lightning came out of the heavens to strike them down.  I probably am over-reacting, she thought as they stood in front of the door.  Must just be something in the air…

*************

She stared down at the bed, head tilted, the scent of Spike's body still hanging in the air.  "You know," she said as his arms wrapped around her waist from behind, "this'll be the first time I've been in this bed since I had that dream about you and the beach."

"Actually," and his fingers slid inside her trousers, deftly undoing the button before sliding down the zipper, "last time you were in it was the dog fever, remember?"

Buffy sighed, enjoying the feel of his lips on the curve of her neck.  "I like my memory better," she murmured, and turned in his embrace.

Somewhere between there and the bed, the duo shed their clothes, falling onto the mattress in a tangle of arms and legs, Spike's lips leaving icy trails over the top of Buffy's breasts.  The barest flick of his fingers caused her nipples to rise, hardening to twin points under his attention, and he brought himself lower, taking in the nearest to suck it against the roof of his mouth.  

She hissed, arching her back to bring him even closer, one hand clutching at the sheet while the other raked down his back.  When her legs spread, the vampire chuckled, and none too gently shoved them back together, using the opportunity to brush the palm of his hand over the coarse curls.  "You're an impatient one tonight," he teased, stretching his sculpted form against hers, flipping her around so that each lay on their side, her back to his front, his rock-hard cock easing into the crack of her ass.

Buffy whimpered at the contact, eyes flittering shut as Spike's hands returned to her breasts, rolling and tugging at her nipples as he nibbled across the top of her shoulder.  It was at once both too much and not enough, and the grinding of her ass into his hips seemed the most natural thing to do.

Though this was hardly their first time, the inferno of the Slayer's flesh in his arms seared Spike in a vortex of runaway emotions, each threatening to take control…the continuing disbelief that Buffy was actually his…the blood-driven lust that demanded he take her, once and for all…the unequivocable love that wanted only for her to be happy.  For a brief moment, he wondered how she felt those feelings, if they were just as much of a confusing mishmash for her as they were for him…

"Not confusing," she whispered.  "Real."

"Y'know, we've really got to stop doin' that," Spike murmured into her skin.

"Stop doing what?"

"Answering questions that never get asked."

He felt her stiffen slightly in his embrace.  "Does it bother you?" she queried, her voice slightly husky.  "I try to give you space, you know, so that you can still feel like Spike, but sometimes it's just impossible not to hear you, or to feel you.  And things just pop out of my mouth before I can think."

"That's got nothin' to do with what happened in Greece," he replied.  "You've been poppin' off without thinking ever since I met you."  He laughed as she tried to twist around, her gasp of indignation put on more for effect than because she was actually annoyed.  They both knew he was right, and it was that more than anything else infuriated her…in a good way, of course.  "But, to answer your question," he continued, his hand straying from her breast to trace lazy circles on her stomach, "no, it doesn't bother me.  We're just goin' to have some explainin' to do to the others if we keep it up."

"They wouldn't understand.  Especially Giles.  I think he'd go all Watchery on me if he knew just what happened between us."

Spike bit his lip, holding back the words of reproach that had automatically sprung there.  Couldn't go defending Rupert if he didn't want to explain why he was feeling particularly disposed toward him, and that would just lead to more questions that he didn't want to be answering right now.  Better to just…

His hand slid down to her leg, grasping the soft flesh of her inner thigh to separate them, sliding his body downward just enough to ease himself into position.  Her moan of pleasure was all he needed to spur him forward, tongue tracing the curve of her ear as he guided himself to her opening, sinking the shaft into her wetness inch by excruciating inch.

Buffy whimpered as he began to pick up speed, his blunt teeth scraping at the tender flesh of her neck.  When she began to match his movement, grinding backwards into his powerful hips, Spike growled, the tension in his body forcing him to begin driving even deeper.

The sweat that had dissipated from her skin on the run to the graveyard returned, slicking her back so that it slid with glorious ease over his chest.  Its arrival, however, heralded the dysfunction of her lungs, every breath seeming to catch in her throat with a harsh rasp, and Buffy had to keep reminding herself to exhale…inhale…take in the oxygen so that the kaleidoscope that danced before her eyes would stay bright and colorful, not shade itself to black.  Just because he didn't need to breathe, didn't mean she could do the same.

He always wondered how someone so small could take him the way she did, swallowing him whole as if it was candy.  He couldn't help the sounds that emerged from his throat, the animal grunts paired innocuously with the words of love… "Buffy…fuck…so beautiful…can't…don't…god…love you…so much…"  It was an endless stream, some of it making sense, most of it not, all of it filling her ears, telling the young woman exactly what doing this meant for him.

The explosion came out of nowhere.  Usually, there was a build-up, that spring that tightened in the pit of her stomach, but this time, it didn't appear.  Instead, the scream was ripped from Buffy's mouth, echoing against the walls of the crypt.  His came just a few seconds later, unable to hold himself back as she squeezed the length of his shaft, and clung to her damp torso, the paroxysms of pleasure wracking throughout his body.

It took a minute for the room to stop spinning, and another before Buffy felt safe enough to open her eyes again.  She smiled when she realized that Spike was still inside her, his mouth nuzzling her neck, his arm returned to around her waist as if he were settling in for the night.  "You don't plan on sleeping like this, do you?" she asked lightly.

"S'nothin' wrong with it," he murmured, already half-asleep.  "Just means I'll already be in proper position for round two."

"And just how many rounds do you foresee?"

He chuckled.  "I tell you that, and there goes the surprise."

Her laughter joined with his, and slowly, Buffy snuggled back against his chest.  

To be continued in Chapter 4: Beneath Thy Power…


	4. Beneath Thy Power

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy has spent the night in Spike's crypt, while Giles has enjoyed the company of Cortina…

*************

She watched him as he slid the robe from his shoulders, his back to her, and smiled lazily as he so carefully returned it to its hook on the bedroom door.  "Just once, I'd like to see you be so dazzled by my presence that you forget you're British for a minute and leave your robe on the floor like a normal human being."

Giles glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, the twinkle in the blue depths unmistakeable.  "And since when do you know so much about being a normal human, o she of the mystical demon realm?" he teased.

Cortina laughed as he slid back under the blankets, draping one leg over his thigh, allowing her skin to brush against the satin firmness of his semi-erect cock.  "_You live a few hundred years around mortals, and then we'll talk about who knows what."_

He stared up at the ceiling, feeling her fingers skate across his stomach.  "I believe that's the first time I've thought about that," he mused.

"Thought about what?"

"Your age," he clarified.  "The things you must have seen…the history you've witnessed…it's really quite intriguing to consider the possibilities."  His head turned, a small smile on his lips.  "I suppose it would be far too gauche to ask exactly how old you are."

"Suffice it to say…older than you."  Her eyes danced in amusement.  "Don't tell me I'm your first older woman," she accused lightly.

His laughter was immediate.  "Oh, god, no," he said.  "In fact, I lost my…"  His voice trailed off, glancing at her expectant gaze before clearing his throat.  "Never mind."

"Well, then…"  She rolled herself on top of him, straddling his hips, as she sat up.  "I guess I'll just have to be satisfied with being your first demon."  His blush and the quick ducking of his eyes caused Cortina's jaw to drop in genuine surprise.  "Rupert Giles!  Will wonders never cease…"

"She wasn't a…demon, per se," he protested.  "Just…not human."

Her white hair trailed over his bare chest as she leaned down, hands pressed to his shoulders as she supported her weight, small even teeth nipping at his throat.  "Someone's a very bad boy," she murmured, feeling him swell between her thighs.

"Actually, I've been told I'm quite good," Giles replied, unable to hide his smile as he went along with her teasing.  

"And we don't have to worry about going into work today?" Cortina asked, her bites travelling across his shoulder to his upper arms.

"No."  The air caught in his lungs as her wetness glided over his erection, all rational thought temporarily banished.  "Anya…ummmm…I told her…"

"…to watch the shop?" she finished for him, the words no more than breath in his ear.

"Yes."  Mustering his last reserve of strength, Giles wrapped his arms around Cortina's torso, flipping her sideways and back onto the bed, his long body pressing her down into the mattress.  "We've got all day…"

*************

The flames crackled in the fireplace, casting claret-colored shadows across the floral wallpaper of the drawing room, the tiny revenants dancing in solemn glee as he watched her glide across the floor with the silver tray balanced carefully in her delicate hands.

"More tea, William?" she asked, and the familiar lilt of her voice constricted his throat, the barely repressed shivers in his skin escalating to tremors that were difficult to mask.  Fuck.

"If I've told you once, I've told you a million times," he growled, refusing to look up into those oh-so-familiar blue eyes.  "It's Spike now."

"Hmm, yes, you have."  He heard her settle in the chair opposite, the long length of her skirt impossible not to notice as it billowed out around her.  "You're certainly in a…curious temper this evening.  Do you want to discuss what's vexing you so?"

"Since when is this about talkin'?" he muttered.  "Let's just get this on and get it over with."

Her gentle tsk seemed to boom throughout the room, and Spike couldn't help but sneak a look at her out of the corner of his eye.  The soft brown hair curling around her temples, just a hint of grey beginning to tinge an occasional strand…the fine lines around the eyes…even the small bend in her nose…it was the details that made it so hard, knowing that it was so close and yet… "You're not even her," he said, his gaze returning to the fire before him, losing himself in its hypnotic power.  Don't look, don't look, don't bloody look, he chanted silently.  Seeing her face, knowing what he knew…it made the memories of watching Buffy with Daymon at the beginning of the ritual feel like Christmas.

"I've arranged for us to be alone tonight," she said, ignoring his disavowal.  "I thought you'd be pleased."

And it appeared in his hands, just as it had every other time, hot and steaming, the rich scent that normally made his mouth water turning his stomach to lead.  The sensation of his own heartbeat as it pounded within the walls of his chest---growing all too-familiar---pulsed down his arms, making the fine china rattle against the saucer, and his knuckles grew white as he tightened his grip, wishing and praying that the soddin' tremors would just stop.  Relax, relax…and then there it went, the fragile cup shattering in his grasp, the crimson fluid spilling to obscure the tiny roses painted along the edge of the porcelain, his own blood mingling with the drink as the shards sliced into his palms.

"Fuck," he muttered, and reached for the cloth at his side, knowing as he did so that it wouldn't make a difference.

"Now, William, what have I told you about using such language in my house?"  Her tone had hardened, and Spike raised his head to look at her, the pain in his hand forgotten, drowning in the celestial shade of her aspect as he found himself rooted to his seat.  "I'm afraid you leave me no choice…"  The dagger appeared in her lithe grip---again, _always again---and he braced himself for the punishment it would deliver, mesmerized by the wont of its arc as it sent splinters of refracted candlelight scattering across the deadness of her eyes…_

*************

She'd give just about anything for a mirror right now.  Don't know what you expect, she chastised herself, running the comb through her damp hair.  The vamp's got no reflection; what does he need a mirror for?

Still, if she was going to be spending time at the crypt, Buffy was going to need to get one, along with a couple other amenities to make the place more human-friendly.  Maybe some curtains, as she hummed distractedly under her breath.  And definitely some decent movies to watch when nothing's on TV.  No way am I sitting through any more Passions.

The Slayer giggled.  Wonder how long it would take him to notice if she tossed his tape collection out the window?  Just had to make sure to do it during the day so that he'd have to wait until the sun went down before he could get them.  That might actually be a fun game, and it would keep her Passions-free during hours when their extra-curricular options were more on the limited side.

Buffy glanced at the watch on her wrist.  Twelve-thirty.  No wonder she was hungry.  And Giles was so going to kill her for being late for training.  Downstairs, Spike was still asleep, and though she could've used a few more hours of shuteye herself, she knew she had to get up and actually do something with her day.  Even if it meant braving the storm that still raged outside.

Going out, though, meant one thing; she had to find her shoes.  No way was she in the mood for mud splodging between her toes, probably with vamp dust thrown into the mix for good measure.  A quick survey around the crypt told her what she already knew---that her boots were still downstairs---and with a sigh, Buffy headed for the ladder.  Not that seeing Spike one more time before she left was a bad thing, she thought.  But if he wakes up, I'm going to be screwed 'cause I'll never get out of here.

*************

She heard him before her foot had left the ladder, the soft whimper in the back of his throat that hooked into her stomach with icy claws, and immediately Buffy's senses tuned into the blond vampire on the bed, eliminating the space between them in two quick steps, clambering to kneel at his side.

"Spike!" she hissed, hands on his shoulders.  "Wake up!"  She shook him, gently at first, then with increasing force, watching with growing dismay as he refused to respond.  What she wouldn't do to be inside his head right now, to be able to help him fight down whatever it was that was gripping him so.  But no.  Buffy was stuck on the outside, minus their normal connection, with only her voice and her two hands to get him to snap out of it.

"Spike!" she shouted again, this time lashing out with a quick right to his jaw, mentally noting to apologize to him later for having to hit him.  She saw his lids flutter, the frown beginning to furrow his brow, and placed her hands back on his shoulders.  "Wake up!"

"What the…?"  Spike blinked against the light, scowling.  "Fuck, Buffy.  I'm trying to sleep here."

"No, you're trying to have a nightmare there," she retorted, sitting back on her heels.

The faint flashes as it started to come back to him caused the vampire's hand to unconsciously clench, and he fell back onto his pillow, closing his eyes in an attempt to clear his head.  Don't worry her, don't let her know about the dreams, he thought and quickly focussed his mind elsewhere, anywhere, just as long as she didn't…

They both heard it at the same time, the footsteps softly treading across the floor above them, and simultaneously looked up at the ceiling, as if by doing so, they could see through it and discover who the new arrival was.  Correction.  Arrivals.  Very much a plural.

"You expecting company?" Buffy whispered.

Spike snorted.  "One of these days, you're goin' to realize that's a really daft question," he replied, and reached for his pants. 

"I don't suppose you have any weapons down here?"

He couldn't help the grin.  "Yeah.  You."

She rolled her eyes.  "How about something pointy?" she asked, but even as his mouth opened to respond, that smirking glint shining in his blue eyes, she held up her hand to cut him off.  "You are _not about to go there."_

Together, the pair ducked into the corner, away from the entrance from above, hiding in the depths of the shadows so that the intruders would be surprised should they come down.  "You could be lucky," Buffy murmured.  "Maybe they just want to rob you."

"Bloody well hope not," Spike muttered.  "Took me forever to nick all that stuff."

The first landed with an almost silent thud, his back to the pair, the weapon in his hands trained on the empty space in front of him.  Immediately, the vampire stiffened.  Human.  

She caught the thought just as she darted forward, foot connecting with the newcomer's back to send him reeling forward.  Human meant she was on her own here; Spike's chip wasn't going to help in this kind of fight.  Not that it was much of a battle.  In the space of a single blink, Buffy leapt over the man's head, landing in front of him as he stumbled to regain his balance, and had wrenched the weapon from his grasp, using it to butt him in the face.

Spike watched as he went down like a rock, his smile automatic as he watched the Slayer reach gracefully for the foot of the second man, yanking him down through the hole and tossing him against the wall like a tightly rolled newspaper, adding him to her unconscious body count.  Every move was like liquid fire, executed with deadly accuracy in a grace that made his mouth water.  God, he loved watching her fight.

Buffy cocked her head, sliding against the wall as she listened to the remaining tread overhead.  Hazel eyes remained locked on the hole in the ceiling, and as two booted feet came to rest on the ladder, she yanked on its side, dislodging it from its placement so that the third intruder came crashing to a heap on the floor before her.  One carefully aimed kick, and it was officially Buffy, three…intruders, none.

"Who've you pissed off now?" the Slayer asked as she circled the three men, tying them to the post for interrogation later on.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Spike replied, arms folded across his bare chest.  But he knew.  And in spite of his efforts to the contrary, he couldn't keep the words from floating across his brain.  Bloody Council...

She stiffened as if burned, head whipping around to stare at him, eyes blazing.  "The Council?" she said.  "What could they…?"

"Bugger," he muttered, ducking his head as he ran lean fingers through his hair.  When he tried to step away, though, Buffy's hand shot out, wrapping around his arm in a steel vise, forcing him to turn back and look at her.  "Look," he started, "I told him I wouldn't say anythin'…"

"Giles."  Her voice was glacial, and he could feel the anger radiating from her in icy slivers.  "Why the hell did he keep this from me?" she demanded.

"'Cause he bloody well knew you had enough on your plate without havin' to add me to it!" Spike shot back.  "I'm not such a whelp that I can't take care of myself, y'know."

Buffy folded her arms across her chest. "Oh, because you're _so good at defending yourself against humans, right?" she said, and shook her head.  "Get dressed."_

"Why?"

"Because we're going to go see Giles."

He looked point blank at their three hostages before turning an annoyed azure gaze back to the Slayer.  "There are so many problems with that, I don't even know where to start," he snarked.

"They're not going anywhere---."

"---not to mention it's daytime---."

"So, we'll take the tunnels."  Her jaw was firm.  "I have a few choice words for both of you."

"How 'bout you give me mine here and go skip along to Rupert on your own?" Spike offered.  "'Cause if I show up there with you, he's goin' to know somethin's up."  He paused.  "We're goin' to have to tell him about…you know…"  He hoped that was enough to convince her not to drag him along.  Nothing about this could turn out good if he went.

"You can either get dressed on your own like a good little vamp," Buffy said, "or I'll dress you myself and drag your ass out of here.  Your choice."  The look in her eyes was immutable as she waited for him to respond, his t-shirt dangling from her fingers.

"Bitch," he muttered, yanking the piece of cotton from her hand.  He loved the stubborn bint, but sometimes she got him so mad, he felt like tearing her throat out.  And this, knowing how fucked up this was going to make everything, definitely qualified as one of those moments.

*************

They were both soaking wet as they stood in front of Giles' door, the rain pelting their skin until it pocked in protest.  "Hurry it up," Spike growled from under his steaming blanket, watching as Buffy pounded on the wood for a third time.  He wasn't happy about being out in the storm, and this traipsing around Sunnydale was starting to erode his last nerve.  You couldn't have been at the shop, could you, Rupert, he thought irritably.  No, you had to call in sick, and make me drag my ass over here.  Hope you're in there puking your guts out.

Buffy frowned.  "You don't think he's too sick to answer the door, do you?" she asked.

"Who bloody cares?" he snarled.  "Just get me in there before you have to sweep me in there!"

Biting her lip, she grasped the doorknob, expecting to feel the lock beneath her grip, only to be surprised when it easily twisted in her hand.

Spike pushed past her into the apartment's interior, oblivious to his surroundings as he dropped the blanket to the floor and began stamping out the flames.  Buffy's entrance behind him was slower, and she felt her skin crawl as she surveyed the room, the pieces slowly begin to fall into place.  

"Giles?" she called, walking past the chair that was knocked askew, eyes glancing at the claw marks that trailed down the wall.  The apartment was silent, the only sound audible her own heartbeat, and the Slayer rushed forward, disappearing down the hall.

*************

He lay in a huddled heap behind the door, and Buffy had to push against him in order to get inside.  Blood stained his forehead, clumping his eyebrows into a sodden mass, and his knuckles were torn, the skin ragged shreds from the blows she imagined he'd thrown.  Giles groaned as she rolled him over, propping his head onto her lap, his eyes flickering open to stare up at her.

"What happened?" she asked.  "Are you OK?"

"Cortina…" he murmured, and tried to twist his head to gaze over at the bed.  

Buffy looked up, around the empty room, before settling her worried eyes back on her Watcher's face.  "She's not here," she said.  "What happened?"

Her announcement seemed to drain what fuel he had, and the older man slumped against her arm.  "They…took her…"

"Who?  Who took her?"

"Your bleedin' Council."  

Buffy's head swivelled to stare at Spike in the doorway.  "How do you know that?" she asked the vampire.

"They left their calling card," he replied, and tossed the weapon to the ground before her.

*************

The storm guided the way, carving their path through the city that housed the Hellmouth, offering temptation along the way but harboring no doubt as to where the true bounty lie…or rather, bounties, as the voices called to them in a harmonious unison that was impossible to resist.  Through the streets…allowing the wind to carry them…whispering their thrill at the festivities to come.

The trail diverged, splintering between black and white, and for a moment, they hesitated, unsure as to which to follow, knowing that either would be pleasurable but unable to choose which should be first.  In the end, they opted for the shorter path, their eagerness overwhelming their reason, and sailed along on the air's currents, their hunger growing, threatening to better their judgment.

They swarmed around the house, dancing with the gales, delighting when the tall blonde rushed from her SUV to the front door, only to follow her in as she struggled to close it behind her.  Their glee quickly dissipated, however, as they were greeted with an empty plate, the dwelling bereft of the promised feast.  Dismay dissolved into anger, and the uninvited guests began to grumble.  They were hungry.  They had come to feed.  If they were to be denied their treat, then they would have to satisfy themselves with what was on hand.

They followed her into the living room, attracted by her radiance, not as bright as the one they desired but delectable just the same, and, as she settled herself onto the couch, dozens of invisible eyes drank in the sight of their next meal…

To be continued in Chapter 5:  Dark Wintry Bed…


	5. Dark Wintry Bed

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  The council has attempted to kidnap Spike without success, but it has managed to nab Cortina's while she was at Giles'…

*************

Giles winced as she daubed his knuckles with the antiseptic, the singe as the fluid seeped into his exposed flesh reminding with harsh alacrity of his own inadequacy to protect Cortina.  "Sorry," Buffy murmured, and set aside the cotton balls to pick up the bandages.  There was a moment of silence as she carefully wrapped his hands, stretching the white gauze around the wounds with a gentleness that surprised even her, and she hesitated before speaking again, a quick glance up into his face confirmation for the young blonde that his real pain didn't lie in these external injuries.

"How many were there?" she finally asked, letting loose his hands to sit back on her heels.

Giles leaned back into the couch, eyes fluttering shut.  "Four.  Five maybe.  They were all dressed identically, and it happened so fast…"  His lids opened, gazing down at his charge in weariness.  "I'm not sure."

"Well, at least Cort put a fight," Spike said, nodding toward the claw marks that scarred the wall.  "I'd wager she's givin' them a good run for their money."

In spite of his pain, the Watcher smiled.  "Yes, she's definitely doing that," he agreed.  "She has remarkable…spirit."

"Any idea on what they want with her?" Buffy queried.

"Most likely the same thing they want from Spike," Giles replied.  "To study her.  She's not even supposed to exist.  I can't imagine how I ever thought they'd be able to resist such a temptation."  His eyes flickered to her face, apology shining through the blue depths.  "I never intended for you to get hurt by my…withholding the information I had.  I merely didn't want to worry you unnecessarily."

"It worries me more when I start thinking you guys don't trust me," she said.  "But the important thing is, they failed."

"Somehow, I don't think they counted on the Slayer bein' in my crypt," Spike chuckled.  "Otherwise, they wouldn't have piddled about only sendin' three men." 

"That doesn't mean they won't try again."  Her voice was hard, her face grim, and the two men watched as she rose to her feet.  "If they think that just because they give me a little bit of information on Glory, they can start interfering in my life and the people I care about, they've got another thing coming.  This is one bud I'm nipping before they can even open their mouths to bite."

"I should've insisted she return to her caves last night," Giles said softly.  "At least there, she's got defenses.  Guards to protect her from such an attack."

"Stop blaming yourself."

His gaze was direct.  "And who else is there?"  He shook his head.  "I should've known, should've been prepared.  The Council is ruthless in its pursuit of knowledge, and Cortina---."

"---has us on her side."  She sat herself down next to him on the couch.  "The Council wouldn't even have me as a Slayer if it wasn't for her, and if they can't see the voice of reason in that, then we'll just have to introduce them to fists of fury instead."  She smiled, trying to lighten the tone.  "You know, one of these days they might actually learn that pissing me off is really a bad idea."

Spike and Giles smiled, their individual pride at the strong woman before them evident in both grins.  "I…appreciate the support, Buffy," her Watcher said.

"Don't go thinking this gets you off the hook for not telling me about them gunning for Spike."  Rising to her feet, she folded her arms across her chest as she glanced between the men.  "As soon as this whole mess gets fixed, I'm going to have a bone to pick with you two.  And not some wimpy funny bone, either.  I'm talking huge leg-sized bones."  She began heading for the front door.  "So, while I'm gone, you two talk strategy.  Figure out how we want to start on getting Cortina back."

"You're leaving me here?" Spike asked, stepping forward.

"You're leaving him here?" Giles echoed, back straightening as he leaned forward.  

"I'm leaving him here," Buffy affirmed.  "I think you two will survive an hour alone together while I run home to pick up some weapons and change my clothes.  No offense, Giles, but these have gotten a little…icky."  She plucked at the fresh stains on the hem of her top.  "Not that there's anything wrong with Watcher blood, just not on my new blouse."

"I can always swing by the crypt to pick up my own weapons---."

The shake of her head was vehement.  "I don't want you out alone, Spike.  Not without some kind of protection in case they make another attempt to snatch you.  The Council won't to be expecting you here, so you should be safe until I get back."

The room was silent after she left, the two men refusing to look at the other.  The blond vamp was the first to shatter the quiet.  "Don't suppose you've still got some blood in the back of the fridge," he drawled, sauntering to the kitchen.  "Council kinda put a kibosh on the whole breakfast thing."

"No," the older man replied, rising to follow him out.  "But there is some Weetabix.  If you're really hungry, you could try some the old-fashioned way, you know…with milk."

Spike rolled his eyes.  "Don't be givin' me the Watcher attitude, Rupert.  How the hell did you expect me to keep Buffy out of the know once your work buddies showed up?"

"They're hardly my 'work buddies'---."

"And I told you keeping her out of the loop was a bad idea---."

"I'm not going to keep apologizing for that!"  Giles' fist slammed into the wall, startling both of them, and he winced as a bright spot of crimson appeared on the bandages.

"Y'know I'm goin' to get the blame for that, too, don't you?" he said, marching past the other Englishman to fetch the remaining gauze from the living room.  "She's goin' to think you took a swing at me."

"Well, we just won't tell her then, will we?"

The two men looked at each other for a moment before both burst out into laughter, sharing the moment of their own silliness as it warmed the chill of the room.  As the air quietened, the earlier tension replaced by a more relaxed ease, Giles watched as Spike returned with the bandages and set about replacing his dressing.  "You should really stop whinging about feelin' guilty about Cort," Spike said.  "I mean, those Council wankers caught you with your pants down.  Hardly expect any man'd be able to put up a good fight with his tackle blowin' in the breeze."

The Watcher chuckled.  "I suppose not."

"And don't know what Buffy's got her knickers in a twist about, anyway," the vampire continued.  "If the Council won't play ball, we'll just find Cort on our own."

"That sounds much simpler than it actually is."

"Not really.  All we've got to do is get Red.  She'll take care of it."

"Do you think one of her locator spells will work?"

"Not her hocus-pocus.  Her Elvis.  Cort's still in the area, he'll sniff her out soon enough."

For the first time since Spike's arrival, he saw a light gleam in the Watcher's eye, the faintest glimmer of hope breaking through the clouds that had been shading the blue depths.  "Yes," he murmured.  "The Hound can certainly find her.  We must call Willow."

Spike held firm to the other man's hands as he tried to walk away.  "Let's get you patched up and sorted first," he said.  "I'm not listenin' to Buffy natter on about how I broke her Watcher when she gets back."

*************

The wind cut at her skin as she raced along the sidewalk, arms hugged tightly around her thin body in an attempt to stave away the cold.  Maybe we should just reconvene at my house, Buffy thought grumpily.  Giles has a car; he can bring Spike along and nobody has to be out in Hurricane Hellmouth.  Although the rain had decided to take a break, the storm itself didn't seem in any danger of ending any time soon, and the thought of having to return to it laden with weaponry was growing increasingly bothersome to the Slayer.  Yep, no reason why we can't do this at my house, she decided.  Plus, hot chocolate.  Big bonus.

She saw the SUV parked in the drive and only gave it a passing thought as she flew up the porch.  Mom must've forgotten something, she thought, and tested the theory by turning the doorknob, feeling it twist within her grasp.  So much for locked doors today.

"I never want to hear any more grief about playing hooky again," she called out as she pushed the door shut behind her.  "Home in the middle of the day?  People are going to…"  Her voice trailed off as she came to a stop in the living room entrance, her smile fading.  "Mom?"  There was no response from the still form lying back on the couch.  "…Mom…?"

*************

"You need more biscuits," Spike shouted as he shut the cupboard door, the wooden frame reverberating dully as it bounced slightly in its slam.  "And how the hell do you have McVitie's in the first place?  These cost a bomb outside of merry old England---."  The plate in his hand crashed to the floor, shattering into jagged splinters, as his hand reached out to clutch the edge of the counter, the world around him swimming in a kaleidoscope of crimson and gold, the air suddenly thick and too heavy as he found the unavoidable urge to begin gulping at it.  The images were coming fast and thick, bombarding his inner eye with pain so exquisite he audibly winced as he struggled to straighten.  Joyce…in her living room…lying back…not moving…god, no…

"Spike?  Are you all right?"  There was no mistaking the concern in Giles' voice as he strode from the living room, stopping in the doorway with a worried frown as he watched the vampire lurch forward, gripping the wall as if by letting go he risked toppling over, not even cringing when he latched himself onto the Watcher's arm.

"Buffy's," he snarled.  "Now."

*************

Movement meant acknowledgement, and acknowledgement meant admittance, and in the vacuum that now entombed the young blonde, admittance was the same as saying goodbye to the lifeline that had been her mother, and she wasn't ready to do that.  Not yet.  Not now.  Not ever.  

The cold crept up her body, inching its path through her limbs, leaving numbness in its wake, and Buffy found herself lost in the vision of an empty house, silence thundering between its walls, trying to suck her in just so that it could spit her back out again, a shell of what she was, walking through the days like anything really mattered when knowing inside that it didn't.

_Buffy, luv, we're on our way…_

"Spike!"  His name echoed around her, the relief in hearing him albeit in her head expelling the air so that she sounded for all intents and purposes that she was calling him from somewhere within the building.

_Sshh__…_he reassured, his inner voice just as silken as his real one, stroking the golden hair of the scared little girl inside her head.  _You're not alone.  Rupert and I will be there any minute.  He felt the trembling begin in her knees, knew she was unaware of it, and wished more than anything that he could be there in the Summers' house instead of hiding underneath some blanket in the back seat of Giles' mid-life crisis.  She needed to be held, needed to know that she didn't have to face this by herself, needed to know that Spike felt Joyce' loss just as strongly as she did.  The stab of fear as he realized she was standing there immobile, not feeling anything but chill, sliced through his gut, wrenching a frustrated growl from his throat, stinging his eyes with tears.  Not bloody fair, he thought, knowing Buffy could hear him but unable to hold back his own ache.  Not Joyce.  She deserved so much better._

It was then that he felt the swirl of air around his ankles and frowned.  What the…?  But the difference became clear in a moment when he recognized the sensations not on him, but on Buffy, the slight breeze wrapping around her legs, not his, circling and entwining as they swept upwards, a lissome spiral that seemed to be imbued with its own life…

_Buffy!_  

The urgency in his call wrenched the Slayer from the reverie staring at her mother's dead body had swallowed her in, and she turned her attention inward, feeling the rough texture of his blanket against her cheek.  _What's wrong? she asked._

_Get out of the house.  Now.  Get as far down the street as you can._

_Why?  I can't just leave her here…_

_Damn it, Buffy, just do as I say!_  He couldn't help the panic as he felt the tightening around her torso and thrust the sensations at her consciousness, forcing her to notice for the first time how difficult it was getting to draw in a lungful of air, even harder yet to let it out.  _Just run!_

She stumbled backward, her legs prickling as if they'd been asleep for hours, her usual grace vanished on the wing of desperation.  The air seemed almost palpable now, and this time there was no mistaking the brushes against her skin as she raced back to the front door, throwing it open to the renewed gales outside, and ran, head bent, down the street.

Giles saw her first, a golden wraith in the fervor of the storm, and honked as he pulled up along the sidewalk, jerking her attention to the street as she veered to meet him.  He frowned as she slammed the door shut.  "Are you…?" he started to ask, only to be cut off by the vicious growl from under the blanket in the rear of the car.

"Just drive, Rupert."

With one last worried glance at his charge, the Watcher yanked the steering wheel around, reversing the vehicle's direction, before taking off with a squeal across the cement.  He allowed a moment of silence before his frustration got the better of him, and barked, "Will someone please tell me what the bloody hell is going on here?"

"Mom…"  She was staring out the windshield in front of her, hazel eyes glazed in a distant whimper, all color gone from her skin.

"What?  What about your mother?"

She couldn't answer, couldn't say the words.  Too final, too real, not true…

"Joyce is dead," Spike said softly, raising the blanket enough so that he could look out at the immobile blonde in front of him.

"How do you know that?"

Buffy didn't move, but he felt it just the same.  "I saw her, Rupes," the vampire said, mentally extending his hand to soothe the racing nerves in his lover's skin.

"How?  You've been with me the entire time."  Giles glanced into his rearview mirror and cursed the lack of reflection he was greeted with.  How he desperately wanted to see Spike's face right now.

"Because I saw it."  Her voice was almost inaudible, but it was loud enough for both men to hear.   "I walked in, and she was just lying there, and she wasn't moving, and…"

The muscle twitched in the Watcher's jaw.  "Are you telling me that Spike can see what you're seeing?"

"See, feel, but none of that is worth a toss right now.  Not when we've got to get Buffy away from here."

"I don't understand.  Was Joyce killed?"

And it was then that the connection became clear in Buffy's head, the correlation that Spike had sensed between the presence swirling around the Slayer's body and her own mother's inert form crystallizing.  She stiffened, sitting up straighter in her seat, as a spark appeared in the hazel depths of her eyes.  "Yes," she stated, her voice suddenly brittle, two high spots of color coming back to her cheeks.

"By what?  Vampire?  Demon?"

She shook her head.  "I don't know," she admitted.  "But there was something there.  I…we…Spike…felt it.  He's the one who told me to get out of there."  For the first time, she turned in her seat to gaze at the blond in the rear.  "Thank you."

"Someone's got to be watchin' your back," he replied with a wry smile.  "And seein' as how I've got so much experience at it…"

"So where are we going?" Giles interrupted, his frustration edging his voice.  "If there's a threat to Buffy, we need to keep her safe until we figure out what it is, how to get rid of it.  I'm open to suggestions here, especially since you two are the only ones who seem to have all the information in this scenario."

"I'm sorry."  The apology in her eyes was genuine.  "I promise, I'll tell you everything."

"I say we kill two birds with one stone," Spike said.  "Pick up Red and head out to the caves.  Buffy should be safe there while Elvis goes lookin' for Cort."

Giles nodded.  "Yes," he agreed.  "That sounds good."

The Slayer stiffened.  "Dawn!" she exclaimed.  "I can't just have Dawn come home and find Mom like that.  She'll freak."

"So we'll pick up Bit on the way."  A quick glance at the seat around him made his shake his head.  "Next time you decide to blow your dosh, Rupert, try and do it on something with a little more legroom, OK?"

*************

Her whole body ached, the tape over her mouth endlessly tight, pulling at her skin with hundreds of little fingers that pinched and squeezed as if to remind her of its presence.  In spite of the fact that her abduction had occurred hours before, she could feel the blood dripping down her hands, and knew from the pain in her fingertips that her nails were torn from their beds, most likely still embedded in Rupert's wall from where she'd fought to slow their exit, not that that made the pain any less. 

They were humans who held her, armed with weapons that had effectively knocked her out until moments earlier, but who they were or what they wanted were unknowns, variables in this kidnapping equation that Cortina was desperate to decipher.  They knew enough not to let her speak, her Vrolek scream her most viable defense, and her hands were bound behind her, but other than that, she was free to roam, should she choose to.  Of course, the crushing ache through her flesh prevented any sort of movement, and she wondered what exactly they had done to neutralize her so.

Turning her head, Cortina felt the soft brush of cotton underneath her cheek, and knew she was in a bed, a feather dream beneath her body that belied the harshness of her seizure.  She let her eyes flutter closed again.  I need to rest, she thought, recuperate for whatever lies ahead.  Whatever it is they want, they won't get it without a fight…

To be continued in Chapter 6: Cold and Low…


	6. Cold and Low

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy has found her mother dead in her home and suspects that she has been killed, but when Spike sensed a threat to the Slayer, he and Giles whisked her away to Cortina's cave, along with Willow and Dawn.

*************

The beauty of the grotto was lost to them.  From his vantage point in the entrance, Spike watched as the two remaining Summers women clung to each other, their backs to him as they sat on the stone bench, Dawn's wracking sobs echoing throughout the underground cavern.  He could see Buffy's stolid face, and knew without having to try that she was already walling herself away, turning off her emotions while she blanked out the memory of Joyce's lifeless body in her family home, willing herself to forget even as she encouraged her sister to let it go.  No way was he going to intrude on this, even as much as he thought she was wrong.  There would be time enough alone with her later, and then, perhaps, the young woman would be able to face her grief, to allow some of the pain within her tiny frame to escape through the tears that he knew would lessen the pressure that was swelling within her heart.  Just as he would.

Though he heard him approaching, Spike ignored the Watcher's presence until he heard the clearing of his throat behind him, rolling his eyes at Rupert's still ever-so-present British civility.  "S'pose you want me to leave 'em alone," he grumbled, not bothering to turn around.

"Actually, I was hoping that we might…talk."

The vampire glanced back over his shoulder, eyebrow lifted.  "You think this is such a good time to give me hell?" he questioned.  "'Cause gotta tell you, I'm not really in the mood for listenin' to lectures from---."

"It's not a lecture," Giles interrupted.  "I want to discuss this new threat to Buffy."

"That's a chat that should _include your Slayer, don't you think?"_

"She's already told me about her dream.  Now, I want to know what it was you sensed back at her house."  He paused, the narrow line between his brows deepening.  "We both know she needs this time to…grieve.  Don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

The unspoken words hung between them---_not if you truly love her---until Spike shrugged.  "Not much to tell," he started, only to be cut off by Giles' upheld hand._

"Not here," he said, glancing over the other man's shoulders at the two young women by the water.

Spike's mouth was a tight line.  "Right."  Shoving his hands into his pockets, he sauntered after the Watcher, looking back only once before disappearing into the system of the caves.

*************

Willow's head lifted from her book as the two men entered, eyes tired, and offered a sad, half-smile in greeting before burying herself back in its text.  Reason told her it wasn't her mom who had died, but feelings dictated otherwise, and the young witch was doing her best not to let her emotions take the better of her, distracting from her task.  

Spike picked up one of the books from the desk, scanning its spine before sweeping over the others.  "Research, huh?" 

She nodded.  "A Scooby's work is never done."

"What about Elvis?"  He glanced back at Giles.  "We're not forgettin' Cort, are we?"

"I've already sent him out," Willow explained.  "If she's still in the area, he'll find her."

"So, what do you want from me?" Spike asked, sprawling into one of the free chair.  "What details are you hoping pickin' my brain is goin' to provide?"

"Actually, I know very little, outside of what Buffy told me about her dream," Giles said, stepping forth and joining them at the melee of books.  "Although, to be honest, I'm not completely certain that the dream really has anything to do with it."

"It does."  He ducked his head at the direct stares the other two proffered.  How did he go about this without revealing just how much he knew?  Buffy wanted to be the one to explain everything to her Watcher, so he was going to have to tread carefully if he didn't want to tip his hand too much.  

"What makes you so sure?"

"The storm, for starters.  The only time the Hellmouth gets anything but a friendly call from Mother Nature, it's because somethin's brewing.  And the storm in Buffy's dream had all the makings of bein' a doozy."  His blue eyes narrowed as he hastened to add, "So she said."

"That could just be coincidence," but even as he said it, Giles knew that he doubted very much that it was so.  Spike had a point.  Storms in Sunnydale almost always predicated the supernatural.  Or a very bad weather forecaster.

"And then there's the whole wind thing," the vampire added.

"The…wind thing?"

"Yeah.  That's what it felt like back at the house.  Like wind."

"What makes you so certain it wasn't just poor insulation?"

Spike rolled his eyes.  "You think I don't know the difference between a draft and somethin's that actually living?"  He snorted.  "Thanks, Rupes.  Glad to know my powers of observation are so highly valued around here."

"It was living?"  Giles leaned forward, his face intent.  "How do you know that?"

"'Cause it had a mind of its own, it had a purpose.  The thing was wrapping itself around Buffy like some kind of snake.  If I hadn't noticed what it was doin', it would've kept on goin' until she couldn't breathe."

"And you couldn't see it?"  At the shake of the vampire's head, he settled against the back of the chair, brow furrowed.  "So, sentient wind.  Interesting."

"Is that what I'm looking for then?" Willow asked.  "Stuff on wind that thinks and has connections to storms?"

"Yes, I believe that's as good a place to start as any."

Spike rose from his seat.  "Well, if that's done, I'll just---."

"Actually…"  Giles countered the other man's move, blocking the path to the door.  "How are your translation skills?"

The blond's eyes narrowed.  "Why?"

The Watcher blushed.  "Although we have quite a few texts at our disposal here, I'm afraid that a good number of them are in demon dialects that I'm not…familiar with."  He glanced back at the stacks.  "I was hoping you might be willing to take a look at them.  Perhaps there might be something in one of them that we might normally miss."

As he followed Giles back into the rows of books, Spike muttered, "How in hell you guys ever managed so long without me I'll never know."

*************

She watched as Dawn rinsed her face in the water, her shoulder still damp from where the teenager had cried for so long.  The tears weren't over, but she knew that the young girl was exhausted, her eyes so swollen that if it wasn't for the tragic circumstances, Buffy would've been teasing her unmercifully about an unfortunate case of the mumps.  But with everything the way it was…better to just leave well enough alone.

Her own tears went unshed, weighing behind her eyes with an ache that felt like it was going to pull her whole face off her skull, but they were a luxury she didn't feel ready to afford.  Too much yet to do, too much yet to say.  There would be time enough for her own grief later.

"Dawn…"  Buffy watched as the younger Summers lifted her head, sitting back on her heels to gaze with sadness at her sister.

"I don't know how you do it," Dawn whispered, shaking her head almost imperceptibly.  "You're so strong, and I know I give you a hard time about the whole Slayer thing, and I'm sorry.  But it's times like these when I wish I could be like you, that I could as brave as you are and not blubber like a baby."

"You think I don't feel like crying?"  She couldn't keep the incredulity out of her voice.  "Don't you think this hurts me as much as it's hurting you?"

"I didn't say it didn't---."

"You didn't have to walk in on her," Buffy said, her eyes wild from the memory.  "You didn't have to see her lying there.  You didn't have to feel completely powerless because you knew you were too late."

"Too late for what?"  Dawn's breath caught in her chest.  "Is there something you're not telling me?  Don't be holding back on me now, Buffy.  Not when it comes to Mom."

"Come here."  She patted the seat beside her and waited for the younger girl to settle down before continuing.  "I didn't say anything yet because I didn't want to spring it on you all at once.  But, you should know."

"Know…what?"  It was the voice of a little girl waiting to hear what her punishment was going to be for her latest misdeed, scared, tremulous, with just a hint of curiosity as to what was going to come next.

"I think…well, Spike and I both think…Mom didn't die from natural causes.  We think she…might've been killed."

"What?"  Dawn's muscles tensed to jump to her feet, with only Buffy's grip keeping her in her seat.  "By what?  You said there weren't any marks on her.  Were you lying to me?  How could you…?"

"No, no, I wasn't lying," Buffy rushed.  "It didn't look like anything had touched her.  But…there was…something in the house, something…bad.  It tried killing me, too, but Spike managed to get me out of there before it could."

"Then why are we here?" she demanded.  "Shouldn't we be trying to find it?  We have to kill it.  It killed Mom.  We can't just let it---."  The teenager jerked her arm away, rising to her feet, only to be held from running off by her sister's firm grasp on her elbow as she joined her standing.

"That's what we're doing," the Slayer assured.  "We don't know what it is, or how to kill it, or even what it might want with me.  Willow and Giles are doing research right now trying to get some answers that we can use."

"Then that's where we should be."  Dawn's blue eyes were suddenly clear as she gazed levelly at Buffy.  "I know you don't like me mixing with your Scooby stuff, but you can't honestly think I'm just going to sit here and do nothing while you go off and try to do this on your own?  I want…I need to help with this.  I can read just as well as any one of you, better probably than Xander even, and if research is what we need to do right now, then I want to be a part of it."  Her face softened.  "Please, Buffy?  She was my mom, too.  Don't make me just sit back and feel useless.  Let me help."

The two sisters regarded each other and finally Buffy sighed.  "You're right.  And we can use the extra set of eyes.  We'll find what we're looking for faster that way."

Dawn threw her arms around her, hugging her tight.  "Thank you," she whispered.

As the two girls walked away from the stream, arms around each other's waist, Buffy felt her inner voice reaching out, searching for her other half that had so graciously allowed her the few moments of privacy.  _Spike…_

His response was immediate.  _Right here, luv._

_Where are you guys?_

_Cort's__ library.__  Know where it is?_

_Nope._

_Turn left here,_ he instructed as he let himself watch the caves through her eyes.  When he saw the direction her feet chose, he inwardly sighed.  _Your other left…_

*************

The words swam before her eyes, blending into a sea of big words she only half understood and little words that weren't helping anyway.  Time seemed to stop in the bowels of Cortina's caves, and Buffy found herself wondering exactly how long they'd been at it.  How come she doesn't have any clocks? she thought irritably.

_'Cause Vroleks don't really care too much about time_, Spike replied.

Glancing up, she saw the platinum head bowed over his latest book, seemingly intent on the text before him.  To all outward appearances, he was engrossed in his reading, and she wondered not for the first time how he managed to keep so much hidden from the others.

_The master of disguise, that's me,_ he chuckled.  Her gaze returned to the pages of her own book, and she felt him softly reach out to her.  _How're you hangin' in there?_

_By my fingernails and there's a bitch with stiletto heels stomping on my hands._

_You don't have to be here.  Rupert would understand if you wanted to slip away._

_No._  Her denial was adamant.  _I have to do this.  There'll be time for that…later._

He hesitated and then thought, to hell with it.  _As long as it's not too much later.__  You need to get it out, pet, before it eats you up from the inside._

She almost laughed out loud.  _Words of advice on how to deal with grief coming from a vampire?__  Now that's not something you hear every day.  She instantly regretted thinking it, as the image of his very real tears crystallized for her, the sensation of his crying as he watched them in the grotto causing her own eyes to well up.  __I'm sorry, she apologized hastily.  _I didn't mean…__

_Yeah, you did_.  He couldn't hide his bitterness from her.  _You're not the only Summers woman I love, you know.  Your mum was the most decent bird I'd ever met in Sunny D.  You think I didn't see that?  And I would've thought you'd know by now that bein' a vamp doesn't mean you stop feelin'._

She couldn't help but look up, seeing the muscles twitching in his jaw as it tensed, his barely contained anger rising through his thoughts to the surface where the others would soon be able to see it for themselves.  His pain cut through the barrier she'd erected, stabbing at her gut in innocence, and the air compressed in her lungs.  This officially counts as the worst day ever in my entire life, she thought, as the first tear fell down her cheek.

The others looked up as Spike rose, taking Buffy's hand in his and leading her toward the door in silence, her head bent as the tears cascaded, tiny drops spilling from the end of her nose to the floor.  No one questioned the pair, and when the door closed quietly behind them, they each resumed their reading.  

*************

The storm did not help in his pursuit, tossing the scents about on the wind like dust motes, only to occasionally lessen so that the Hound could resume his hunt.  There was to be no fetching of this prey, though.  His instructions were explicit…to locate the white one and then let them know.  He did not understand why, but there was no mistaking his caretaker's concern for his safety and that was enough for him to push onward, to fight the dizzying waves that coursed through his black fur as if to push him back, daring him to fail.

The trail had not been difficult to find, the mingling of the human and demon scents slightly confusing but nonetheless distinctive enough.  It had taken him down roads he hadn't travelled previously, and though the storm did its damage in misdirecting him more than once, it also offered him camouflage from those who might stay his path.  And now here he was, a search around the perimeter confirming for him that his quarry had not traversed farther than this building, ready to return to the redheaded witch and lead her back.  The scent was within, deep within, cloaked by layers of earth and metal, but the truth was indisputable.  

The white one was here.

*************

Although she was now sitting, the tape was still over her mouth, her hands still bound behind her, only now of course, on the other side of the chair back.  They must've moved me in my sleep, Cortina reasoned, and would've laughed out loud if the gag hadn't prevented it.  That's what I get for staying up all night with Rupert.  I should know better by now to let my hormones get the best of me.

There were no clues as to her whereabouts in the meager furnishings of the room.  It looked, for all intents and purposes, that it had been thrown together at the last minute, and she quickly realized that it probably had.  Grey walls, the metal door…it could really be anywhere…

Her pale blue eyes lit on the entrance as it swung open, and a group of four humans walked in.  Two of them she recognized from her fight at Rupert's, and noted with satisfaction the scratches that raked one of the pair's cheek.  A third, female, was carrying electronic equipment, settling at the nearby table to set it up.

It was the fourth who captured Cortina's full attention, an elderly man still in robust health, grey hair receding from his round face, impeccably dressed in a dark suit complete with coordinating waistcoat.  His air of command was unmistakable, and she watched as he waited for a chair to be placed opposite her, nodding with authority at the man who placed it, before sitting himself down to smile at her.

"My apologies for taking so long in seeing you," he said, his British accent wrapping a cold hand around her gut.  "I realize we've never had the opportunity to meet and I do find it unfortunate it has to be under such…surreptitious circumstances."  He paused as a fifth person appeared in the doorway, some device on a tall stand in his arms, and nodded to the space just off to the demon's right before turning back to gaze at her.  "My name is Quentin Travers, and you, my dear Cortina, have been hiding from us for far too long…"

To be continued in Chapter 7: Destroyer and Preserver…


	7. Destroyer and Preserver

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy is trying to come to grips with her mother's death, while Elvis has found Cortina, who has been captured by the Council…

*************

Her pale eyes were cold as she stared at Travers, her face immobile.  He wasn't sure what he'd expected---fear, apology, boastful pride even---but this hostile passivity was unnerving, diverting his train of thought sufficiently enough so that he just sat there and stared at her for a full minute after his introduction.  When he heard the newest arrival quietly cough into his hand, Quentin straightened, pulling down his coat as he quickly composed himself.

"I'm certain you're aware that in spite of the fact that the Council has not had direct contact with you in more than a hundred years, we haven't forgotten about your latent abilities.  However, I would very much like to speak with you, yet I know that as soon as we remove the gag, you will scream."  He gestured to the equipment off to her right.  "Technology has come a long way since you last encountered us, Cortina.  No longer are we forced to deal with you on your terms, but on ours.  That device will simulate the effects of sunlight and should I instruct my colleague to turn it on, we would be treated to the show of watching you boil before our eyes."

For the first time, she showed some emotion, her eyes widening just ever so slightly as they darted between the apparatus and her interrogator.  Quentin allowed himself a small smile.  "I'm not saying I will, of course," he continued.  "What I would like to do is remove your gag so that we might have a civilized conversation.  The device is merely an incentive not to attempt to incapacitate us.  Do you understand?"  He waited until he was met with a single nod.  "Good."

The first thing she did after the tape was gone was suck in her cheeks, exercising the muscles in her face as their inactivity had left her feeling palsied.  "You're not as nice as the last Council head I knew," Cortina said, her gaze locked on Travers' face.  "Of course, he didn't last very long."

He nodded.  "I assume you're referring to Cabot," he said.  "Yes, our records indicate he was rather a soft touch, which, inevitably, cost him his life."

"Is this going to be about old times?" she queried.  "Because if you just wanted to wax nostalgic, a letter would've probably sufficed, or a phone call.  I think the kidnapping thing is going just a tad far, don't you?"

"Does Rupert know?"

"No!"  Her denial was vehement, and the sparks flashed from her eyes.  "And if you in any way hurt him, or drag him into this, I will personally see to it that maggots chew out your eyeballs before I cut out your heart with my bare hands.  Understand?"

Quentin chuckled.  "It's nice to know our dossier on you is accurate.  My predecessors were quite vociferous regarding your…colorful speech."

"I'm glad to know I don't disappoint."

"No, in fact, I must admit to being quite impressed in your ability to stay hidden from us for so long.  How many years has it been now?  One hundred?  One hundred and ten?"

"One hundred and thirty-seven."  Her lips twisted into a cruel smile.  "Give or take."

"And have you been here on the Hellmouth that entire time?"  She nodded.  "As I said.  Very impressive."

"You're not here to talk about my phenomenal hiding abilities," Cortina said.  "And I'm not chained up like some animal because you want to appreciate my beauty.  So why don't you just lay your cards out on the table, Mr. Travers?  I'm sure it'll make you feel better."

"I only have one card, and I'm afraid it's not nearly as interesting as you might think."

"Try me."

"Circumstances have arisen where your talents would be most appreciated."  Quentin smiled.  "In fact, the Council believes that you may very well be our only hope."

She rolled her eyes.  "You Watchers never change.  Always going for the melodrama.  How Rupert ever got involved with you, I'll never know."

"Now, now, Cortina.  Lying does not become you."  His smile vanished, eyes growing serious again.  "We are perfectly aware that you have been breaking into our libraries over the last century, pilfering texts, rummaging through our resources.  How, we have no idea, unless teleportation is a Vrolek skill we're unfamiliar with?"  He waited for an answer, but her lips only thinned as she pressed them together.  "Rupert may have been taken in by your charm, but only because he doesn't know of your true history.  Do you think he would've been so quick to share his bed if he knew you'd slaughtered half the Council before your disappearance?  Or that your reputation as the Destroyer was renowned throughout the Vrolek species?  That even your own kind feared you, and in fact, attempted to turn you over to us themselves?"

"There were extenuating circumstances, and that was a _long_ time ago."  Her voice was frigid with barely controlled anger.  "Rupert doesn't know that Cortina, because she doesn't exist anymore."

"Oh, but we believe she does.   You are still a demon, with demon instincts, and hiding from the world for decades does not constitute a reformation."  He frowned as he saw her eyes dart to the apparatus.  "Don't make me hurt you, Cortina," he warned.  "I think we would both very much regret that."

"Somehow I doubt that."  Her pale gaze flickered over him in disgust.  "Although watching you squirm from being boiled from the inside out might be kind of fun."

"Are you not even remotely curious as to why we would go to all this effort to locate you?" Travers asked.  "Your existence was such an embarrassment for the Council, we've even eliminated all references to Vroleks from our texts.  Convinced dozens of our members around the world that you don't even exist as a species anymore.  Yet, here I am, on the Hellmouth, ready to offer to clear your record with our organization, to promise never to bring you to justice for the crimes you perpetrated against us, and ask only for your help in one specific matter."

"Council promises are worthless to me," Cortina replied.  "There is absolutely no reason for me to trust you."

"This doesn't have to be ugly, but if you prefer, we can always resort to threats.  I'm sure there is something out there you value highly enough to grant us this small favor.  Or _someone, perhaps."_

He didn't have to say the name; she could see it in the watery depths of his eyes, and fought to suppress the urge to open her mouth and let out the scream that she knew would shatter his eardrums, maybe even cause a cerebral hemorrhage.  "You.  Will not.  Touch him," she finally said through gritted teeth.

"And we don't want to," Travers said.  "I am not fond of hurting those within my own organization, but if that's what it will take, then I am prepared to make the order, regardless of my feelings for Rupert."

"And you wonder why I don't like you."

"You don't have to like me to do this for us.  We shall just consider it a business transaction, a simple trade.  I'm certain once you've heard the particulars of our request, you will be more than happy to comply."

She snorted in derision.  "Really?  And why's that?"

"Because it involves two people we suspect may mean something to you."  His smile returned.  "Spike…and Buffy Summers."

*************

Finding their old room had been the easy part.  Separating himself from his own grief so that Buffy could have space to let hers go was not.

Everything was as they had left it…the tasteful decoration, elegant armchairs angled to each other in the corner, the enormous bed that took up the center of the room.  It was there that they sat, she curled up in his arms, the sobs wracking her thin frame as memory after memory insisted on presenting itself.  Some of them were hers---the smile on Joyce's face when she'd given Buffy her first set of skates…the feel of her mother's shoulder on her cheek as they had one of their marathon video sessions---but some of them were Spike's…the image of an axe-wielding Joyce, sensations of hot chocolate coursing down her throat as her mother talked about the gallery.  She'd never quite realized how much time he'd really spent at her house without her, how many secrets Joyce had shared with the vampire that had never made it to Buffy's ears.  In a way, it almost made her angry, knowing that her own mom didn't trust her enough to ask her opinions…

"It's not what you think," Spike murmured, the gentle caress of his hand over her hair almost automatic as he struggled to be the strong one.  "You were her daughter.  She needed someone from the outside.  Someone unbiased.  A friend."

"I c-c-could've helped," Buffy stuttered through her tears.  "I've g-g-got life experience, too, you know."

"Not the same thing, luv.  Besides, she felt she couldn't protect you from the beasties of the night, least she could do was protect you from the beasties of her own life."

For a few, long minutes, the only sounds in the room came from Buffy's sobs and Spike's occasional shush as he began to rock her within his embrace, unconsciously hoping the soft movement would lull her into slumber, rest he knew she would need in order to incorporate her grief into something manageable.  He could feel her pain as a tangible blade in his gut, twisting in red-hot fury as it burrowed its way inside, scraping out everything that lived within them like a hide being cleaned, leaving behind a gnawing void that threatened to swallow what light remained.  He didn't know how she managed it, dealing with this depth of feeling on a day-to-day basis.  Sure, he knew love, he knew hate, and the offshoots that either produced---vengeance, frustration, anger.  It was the remorse he was having problems fathoming, almost a sense of guilt for still being able to walk the earth while Joyce would soon be committed to a cold and dark grave.  These were new sensations, and though he didn't voice the thought so that Buffy could hear, Spike knew---at least, suspected---when they had started.  The day of the cleansing.  More specifically, those moments when he had shared the Slayer's soul.

"How am I going to do this without her?" Buffy whispered, her tears momentarily slowing as she leaned back to look up into his face.  "I don't know how to take care of a teenager, or how to balance the checkbook, or even cook."  Her eyes widened.  "I'm never going to have her hot chocolate again.  I can't believe I never bothered to find out how she makes it.  I'm a bad daughter---."

"You're not."  His hands gripped her upper arms, holding her steady as he stared into her face, blue eyes just daring her to look away.  "And we'll suss it out together."  The corner of his mouth lifted.  "And just ask your sister about the hot chocolate recipe.  I think it's about the only thing I ever saw her do in that kitchen that didn't require a fire extinguisher.  That cooking gene of Joyce's must've skipped over both of her kids."

Through her tears, Buffy smiled, leaning forward to brush her lips against his.  "Thank you," she murmured.  "How would I be able to get through this without you?"

"You'd find a way.  You're the strongest person I know, luv.  You'll get through this."  He felt a flutter of surprise when her mouth trailed across his cheek, her hands coming up to press against his chest as she used them to support her weight.  For a second, Spike felt the instinct to pull away, to chastise Buffy about a time and place for everything, only…

_Please…don't…_

Slowly, he let his arms wrap around her torso, pulling her close so that her heartbeat vibrated against his own skin, closing his eyes as she rained kisses down the side of his neck.  The need wafted from her flesh, the hair on the back of her neck prickling as she nuzzled into his shoulder, and Spike felt her sigh against him, her lashes wet as her eyes fluttered closed.  Words were unnecessary; both felt the emptiness in each of their spirits lessen as they clung to the other, the needs of their bodies temporarily offering refuge from the pain.  Hesitatingly, their lips met, stumbling as if it was their first, too tender, too gentle, frightened of causing even more ache.

It wasn't about the act.  It wasn't about want.  It sure as hell wasn't about numbing themselves from feeling.  As he gently leaned Buffy back against the bed, hands never daring to leave her, afraid almost that if he let go she would somehow disappear, Spike knew the why of it, accepted it, understood how it was necessary.  It was about being thankful…about relishing the fact that they were still alive…

And it was about coming together and proving to the other that they would get through it together…

*************

The knock at the door startled them, causing Giles to fumble with the stack of books he was carrying back to the desk, Willow to drop the pencil she'd been playing with as she read, and Dawn to jerk her head up from where she'd fallen asleep.  Their eyes swept to the entrance as it was pushed open, one of Cortina's men hovering just outside as he barked out a short sentence.  

"Thank you," Willow replied, and the others looked at her with a frown.  She shrugged.  "Since I've been coming out to feed Elvis and stuff, I've picked up on some of their language," she explained.  "It helps a lot, you know, no misunderstandings when we're trying to communicate."

"Do you know how to ask for ice cream?" Dawn asked.

"Uh, no.  Surprisingly, that topic of conversation hasn't come up."

"What did he say?" questioned Giles.

Willow's mouth settled into a thin line.  "Elvis is back.  Which means I should probably go see if he found Cortina."  Closing the book in front of her, she stood and was halfway to the door when Dawn spoke up.

"Should I go get Spike and Buffy?" 

The redhead hesitated, unsure of what to say, but Giles beat her to the punch.  "We'll let them be for now," he said softly.  "They…need this time together, and we're not even certain the Hound has found anything useful."

Willow nodded.  "I'll be back as soon as I have some answers."

The return of silence to the library was enough to spur the Watcher to resume his searching, but Dawn just sat there, watching as he settled in the chair opposite her.   "Giles?" she asked, her voice tremulous, almost as if she was afraid of disturbing him from his work.  She bit her lip when he looked up.  "Can I…ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"What happens now?"

"Well, if Elvis has found Cortina---."

"No."  She leaned forward.  "What happens now…with me?  When they find out Mom is…am I…"  Her face wrinkled as she struggled to get the words out of her mouth, fighting back the tears that threatened to start spilling again.  "I don't want to leave Sunnydale," she finally managed.

Giles' eyes softened, and he pushed aside the book in front of him to lean forward and rest his hand over hers.  "You're not going anywhere," he assured the young girl.  "Your family is here, and we're going to make sure everything turns out all right."

"They can't make me go, right?  I mean, if I don't want to?"

"They won't.  Buffy won't allow it."

The mention of her sister's name seemed enough to comfort Dawn for now, and she slouched back against her chair, a tiny smile on her lips that didn't quite meet her eyes.  "Thanks."

*************

They rested.  Not because their appetites were sated, for that in essence never truly happened.  No, the children of the wind slumbered in the trees of the Hellmouth in order to regain their strength, recoup the penalties for having pushed themselves so assiduously in their search to answer the calls of the feast.  Even the consumption of the other was not enough to fortify them, though the elixir of her purity had been momentarily intoxicating.  For a brief moment, they had touched upon the dark when it had stumbled amidst them, and the heady taste it had offered was enough to convince even the most voluble dissenter to stand down.

They would continue…

They would find them…the dark…the light…

And they would dine…

…until they were all…

To be continued in Chapter 8: Moving Everywhere…


	8. Moving Everywhere

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Quentin Travers is attempting to make a deal with Cortina, while Elvis has returned to the caves with knowledge of her whereabouts…

*************

In spite of the thickness of the cave walls, he could hear them debating outside their door, their voices subdued in worry.  He knew that by all rights he should make it easier for them, go to the door and let them know they'd be right out, but with Buffy finally asleep, her soft breath fanning across his chest as she curled up against him, the last thing he wanted to do was disturb her.

"We need Buffy," Giles said.

"Why can't you just let her be?" Dawn hissed.  "Doesn't it mean anything to you about Mom?  Didn't you see how she was when Spike pulled her out of the library.  Buffy _never_ cries.  How big a deal is that?  And besides, you've got Willow.  Can't she just do some abracadabra to get you guys in and out of there?"

"Normally, I'd say, woo hoo, I get to be magic girl," the witch said.  "But that doesn't work around Cortina.  She just kind of sucks up the magic vibe from around her, so my brand of rescuing ain't going to cut it this time."

"What about Spike then?  Can't we just use him and leave Buffy out of it?"

"This is the Council we're dealing with here," Giles explained.  "They're human.  Spike will be useless in a battle against them."

The vampire grimaced.  He hated it when Rupert was right.  If they stood any chance of getting Cort back, he wasn't going to be of any use to them.  What had happened to those hordes he could defend against?  Too many enemies recently had been human.  Celie, Daymon for a bit, and now the bloody Council.  What he wouldn't do for a good old-fashioned demon hunt right about now.

"Trust me, Dawn," the Watcher was saying.  "Cortina did too much for Buffy for her not to want to do this in return.  And we have no idea how long she'll be at her current location.  If we stand any chance at all at rescuing her, we have to do it quickly."

In his arms, the young blonde stirred, moaning slightly as she shifted her weight, lifting her knee to drape it over his.  She was dreaming; he could see her eyes moving beneath her lids, but because of his own wakefulness, he had no idea who or what occupied those dreams, whether they were painful memories or a pleasant escape.  Either way, her time within them was limited.

"Buffy, pet," he murmured, reaching up to push the hair from her face, exposing the fragile line of her temple as the strands clung tenaciously to her skin from the drying sweat.  "Time to wake up."

The faintest of frowns flickered across her brow, and Spike watched as her bottom lip jutted out.  "Five more minutes," she replied, her voice a husky whisper.

The soft knock at the door caused her to groan, and her frown deepened, lids lifting to reveal the soft hazel of her eyes.  "Please tell me that wasn't what I thought it was," she said.

"Elvis found Cort."

That woke her up, and she propped herself up on her elbow to gaze at the entrance.  "Come in," she called.

There was a hesitation, and then the doorknob turned, but before anyone could show, Willow's voice came through the crack.  "Everyone decent?" 

Spike chuckled.  "What a thing to ask a vampire," he drawled.  "I am deeply shamed that I actually have to answer yes to that."

"Come on in, Will."  Her eyes were down as her head poked around, and Buffy laughed.  "It's OK.  We're not naked."  She glanced down at Spike's bare chest.  "Well, not completely anyway."

"We know where Cortina is," the redhead said.  "Giles wants to get moving ASAP."

"Right.  He doesn't happen to know where she keeps her weapons stashed, does he?  'Cause I'm thinking, they're going to be prettily heavily armed, so we're going to need every advantage we can get."

"Yes, I do."  Although he didn't show his face, her Watcher's voice filtered from outside the room as he responded to her query.  "Dawn and I will go get them.  We'll meet you three back at the stream."

She waited until she heard the sound of their footsteps disappear down the hall.  "I don't want Dawn going," Buffy said.  "Things might get crazy.  I don't want to have to worry about protecting her if I don't have to."

"We can drop her off with Tara," Willow volunteered.

"So that will make two stops," the Slayer mused, and met Spike's blue gaze.  "I was hoping…"

His eyes immediately crinkled as he frowned.  "Oh," he said.  "Right.  S'pose that'd be the proper thing to do and all."

"You don't mind?"

"Stupid question, pet.  Of course not.  At least it makes me useful."

Willow bit at her lip.  Giles had warned her about this new…development in her friend's relationship, but watching it firsthand, hearing them have a conversation where only half of it was spoken out loud was a little weird.  "Not to be nosy or anything," she ventured.  "But would you care to enlighten those of us in the room who aren't all ESP-ing right now?"

"Told you we had to stop doin' that," Spike murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement.

Buffy turned to address her friend.  "I want Spike to stop by my house and make the arrangements for them to come pick up my Mom's body," she explained, a hint of her sadness tingeing her words.  "Obviously, if something's trying to kill me, I can't go around in case it's still hanging around, and no way do I want Dawn to have to deal with it."

"And since I can't help with the Council wankers," the vampire continued, "it might as well be me."  He watched as Buffy pushed back the blankets and stood, stretching like a lazy cat, the fine muscles in her shoulders standing out in bas relief.  The pain was still there, but with a job to do, with something concrete for her to focus on, it was manageable, temporarily shelved to a corner of her consciousness where she could come back later and dust it off.  He would be there for that, help her bear some of the burden of what being left without a parent could do.  His experience wasn't exactly the same, but…

Spike blinked.  It had never occurred to him before now.  In light of the flood of memories each had shared, the thoughts that jumped between them even now as they went about their daily business, Buffy _had_ to know.  It wasn't possible that she couldn't, not when it was so much a part of him, part of who he was today and who he had been.  Yet…she walked as if in ignorance, treated him as if it didn't matter, when he knew---somewhere, deep down---that it did.

Even now…He heard the water running in the bathroom, could feel the cool tingle on her cheeks as she splashed it over her face, and knew that she was completely unaware of even this most recent realization.  She _didn't know.  It wasn't getting through to her, although why, he had no idea.  Part of him wanted to test his theory, force the memories forward to see if she would see them, but an even larger part didn't.  She loved him---he knew that---and even having experienced through his memories what he'd been like prior to coming to Sunnydale hadn't managed to curtail her feelings for him.  But this was different.  And in light of what had just happened with Joyce…He would wait.  No reason for Buffy to know all his secrets, especially ones that might make her leave him…_

*************

She regarded her Watcher with a steady gaze, her lips thin, jaw tight.  "You don't have to do this," Buffy said.

"I'm not about to let you go in and face them on your own," he replied.  "We don't know if they'll be expecting us, or even what we'll discover."  He paused, shifting the weight of the crossbow in his arms as his gaze darted to the building beside them.  "And, yes.  I _do_ have to do this."

She didn't want to ask, not seeing the steely determination in Giles' face.  That was a look he reserved for apocalypses, not something she'd ever witnessed in regard to anything personal.  The white demon was really getting to him.

"Too bad we don't have a way to disguise Elvis," Willow joked.  "Then at least I could come in and help, let you know when Cortina was close by how much my magic got sucked up."

"Somehow, I don't think a rubber nose and a fake moustache will work on six foot demon dogs," Buffy said dryly.  Inhaling deeply, she squared off with the back entrance of the building the Hound had led them to, the daggers she had borrowed tucked safely into her boots.  "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."  He walked behind her as she stepped up to the steel door, watching as she tested the knob before breaking it off in her grip.  "I don't suppose you've got a plan on how to locate Cortina," he murmured as he followed her inside the dark corridor.

"Yep."  She grinned and glanced back at him over her shoulder.  "Open every door we see until we find her."

*************

It didn't take nearly as long as she anticipated.  The building was almost deserted, long since left vacant by whatever company had owned it previously, and in fact showed little to no sign of being disturbed in years.  A thick layer of dust was settled over the furniture that resided in the rooms she exposed, opening door after door as they slowly descended the levels.  Only once had they actually witnessed the presence of others, and the pair had easily avoided detection by ducking into a nearby closet, waiting until they had passed before venturing onward.

When they reached the heavy door, Buffy knew almost immediately that it was the right one, the fact that it was the first she'd encountered that had been locked being a dead giveaway.  Motioning for Giles to stand back, she shattered the bolt in her grasp, pushing the door open as quickly as she could, hoping that by doing so she could surprise any guards that may be inside.

The room was pitch black, a sooty darkness that seemed to swallow the sounds of their feet on the floor.  She stopped, ears straining as she sought to detect other presences.  One moment…two…and there, just a few feet in front of her, a soft exhalation of someone breathing.  Her first instinct was to attack, but Buffy held back, waiting as she continued to listen, quickly realizing that the gentle resonance came from a position lower than her own head, which meant that whoever it was…wasn't standing up.

The sudden illumination from overheard blinded her, and the Slayer blinked as she tried to adjust her eyes to the new light level.  "Sorry," she heard Giles mumble behind her, and then caught the white form on the bed that lay before her.  

She was sleeping, or at least, Buffy hoped that Cortina was asleep and not unconscious from some torture that the Council might've inflicted.  But…and her eyes darkened, her brows knitted.  The demon certainly didn't look like she'd been tortured.  There wasn't a mark on her, and if it weren't for the tape over her mouth or the fact that her hands were bound behind her, the young woman would never have thought anything was remiss.  Well, except for the dried blood stains on the sheets.  That was most definitely not good.

When he saw no one else was in the room, Giles rushed forward, his weapon almost forgotten as he dropped it on the edge of the bed, leaning over to press a gentle hand to her face.  "She's alive," he murmured, eyes searching over her skin for any signs that she might be hurt.

"Well, duh, she's breathing."  Buffy glanced around with a small frown.  "Question is, why isn't she being guarded?"

"That's a question we can worry about later," Giles replied, and set about loosening the cords that bound Cortina's hands, allowing them to fall to the bed before scooping her up into his arms.

The demon stirred as soon as she was lifted, pale lashes fluttering open in alarm that quickly softened.  He could see her mouth working underneath the tape and with as little pain as he could manage, he wrested it from her face.

Cortina gasped as the cool air struck her reddened skin.  "Knew I should've polished that set of armor of yours," she murmured.

"OK, time for flirting later," Buffy warned.  "Right now, we've got to get out of here before they realized what we've done."

The demon frowned.  "Travers…" she started, only to quiet when Giles shushed her.

"Later," he promised.  "Outside."

Buffy's hand stole to the wall and the light switch that her Watcher had found earlier, slipping the room back into the blackness that wrapped around them like a velvet cloak.  This time, it wasn't as oppressive, her eyes adjusting more rapidly to the change, and, with catlike stealth, edged her way to the open door and back to freedom.

*************

His face was impassive as he stared at the screen, the dim outlines of the trio barely discernible in the dark hallway.  They had found her much sooner than he had anticipated, and he couldn't help but wonder as to their means.  Perhaps Willow Rosenberg's magic had increased to such a degree that it could overwhelm the Vrolek's natural defenses.  Even as he thought it, though, Quentin knew it wasn't the case.  Cortina's capabilities were renowned among her species; it would take a much stronger witch than Willow to supersede them.

"Sir, I really think---."

The simple lift of Travers' hand was enough to silence the young man who stood behind him.  "You were given an order.  I expect you to obey it."

"But they're getting away!"

The older man sighed.  "Next time, do try harder not to state the obvious," he reprimanded, and reached for a nearby telephone.  As he held the receiver to his ear, he leaned over to flip a switch on the monitor before him, changing the perspective so that the forms of Buffy, Giles, and Cortina were now approaching the camera instead of hurrying away from it.  His face was tight, and it was only when he heard the familiar click on the other end of the line, did he speak again.  "I want them followed."  There was a slight pause.  "You heard me.  Followed.  They must not know and if they find out…"  The threat hung in the air, and there was no hesitation as he replaced the phone on its cradle.

*************

At least the bloody storm had stopped.  Evidence of its destruction lay everywhere…broken branches scattered across the roads…gutters overflowing from the rain that had been incessant since it started…garbage cans overturned with the debris littering the sidewalks.  Spike shook his head as he surveyed the mess that was the Summers' front lawn.  We're goin' to have a bugger of a time cleanin' this up once this whole thing is over with, he thought irritably.

So lost in thought was he that he didn't even notice the stars twinkling through the break in the clouds, or the way the individual shafts of moonlight struck the puddles and skipped across the cement.  The beauty of the squall's aftermath went overlooked by the vampire as he climbed the stairs of the porch, fingers trailing over the railing as his feet seemed to grow heavier and heavier with each approaching step.  He knew he had to do this; with the threat to Buffy still unknown, there were no other options, not if he wanted her to be safe.  Yet, the prospect of seeing Joyce's dead body, of having to handle the details of her…removal, left an acrid aftertaste in his mouth, his gut churning for some unknown reason, and he found himself fighting the unfamiliar feelings of grief that suddenly threatened to crush him.  Buck up, ol' boy, he said to himself.  Vampire, remember?  Creature of the night.  Lover of all things evil and violent.  Certainly seen enough corpses in your lifetime.  Hell, you _are_ a corpse.

But it wasn't working; he didn't really believe it.  And as his hand stretched out to turn the knob, Spike noticed for the first time the almost imperceptible tremor in his fingers.

The scent wafted to his nostrils as he stepped across the threshold, and he frowned, pausing as he tried to discern where it was coming from.  It seemed to be everywhere, a tangible presence in the air that stroked his skin, flittered across his lips, inviting him to taste when they both knew that it wasn't really there.  But it had to come from somewhere.  Like everything else in this world, it had to have a starting point.

Suss it out later, he chastised himself.  You've got Joyce to take care of, remember?  As if it was even possible he could've forgotten.  Slowly, deliberately, his booted feet moved forward, placing him in the entrance to the living room, positioning him almost in exactly the same spot Buffy had been just a few hours earlier. 

The curtains were still open, the moonlight streaming in through the glass, brightening the room in shades of silver.  It was brightest on the couch, and Spike's azure gaze turned to settle on the exact spot he'd seen through Buffy's eyes, his body freezing as the truth of what lay before him slowly sank in.

They had both seen her.  She had been dead.  No rise of her chest to indicate breathing, her skin ashen in the pallor of death.  But now…it wasn't possible…

The couch was empty.  Joyce's body wasn't there.

To be continued in Chapter 9:  Hectic Red…


	9. Hectic Red

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy and Giles have managed to rescue Cortina from the Council, while Spike has showed up at the Summers' house to take care of Joyce, only to find her body is missing…

*************

Her feet pounded silently against the pavement as they ran for the car, the quiet echo of Giles' steps behind her, the awkward gait of Willow in front.  It had been easy, too easy she knew, but that was a thought for later, when they had put some distance between them and the Council, when they…

_…not there…can't…not possible…_

Buffy's muscles locked, riveting her in a rigor mortis that sent fingers of ice to clench around her heart.  Her gaze turned inward, seeing what he was seeing…_how?…_the questions already piling up as her Watcher halted before her.

"What is it?" he hissed, eyes darting between his charge and the car.  

"Mom…" she murmured, and her head jerked up, hazel blazing.  "Get in the car.  We have to get Spike."

…_He was stumbling backwards, fingers gripping the doorframe, nails clawing at the wood, and she could smell it then, all around him…_

With what will she could muster, Buffy forced her body forward, lungs not sucking in the clean night air but drowning in the sickly sweet that permeated her house, and when she felt Spike trip over his own feet, landing on his bottom with his duster tangled around his legs, her own limbs collapsed to send her sprawling to the ground, the heels of her hands scraping roughly against the concrete.  The tears were right there, blinding her, threatening to spill as they welled, and she began gulping, unable to breathe.

_Luv, don't…_

_I…can't…what…why…_And the gulps evolved into hyperventilating swallows, where nothing could get in, nothing could get out, the black spots starting to dance before her eyes as air suddenly seemed like a precious commodity…

_And he was back on his feet, out the door, slamming it behind him as his boots tore down the sidewalk…away from the house…the panic that had gripped him in its thrall dissipating with each step…his strength returning only to feel Buffy locked in a fight for breath…_

She felt his arms under her shoulders, lifting, carrying her to the car, and the irrational thought of _when did Giles get so strong_ flitted across her brain, causing Spike to chuckle somewhere deep within the recesses of her head.  "Breathe, Buffy," Giles said, the comfortable familiarity of his voice a brace to which she could cling, and the echoing, _breathe, luv_, bolstering her will as she reached out, combining his tenacity with her own to consciously regain control.

Willow's face was a mask of fear as the Watcher slid Buffy into the back seat with Cortina.  "What's wrong?" she asked, and watched as the white demon extended a slim hand to press gently against her friend's chest, her pale eyes sad.

"Can Dawn…stay with you…and Tara tonight?" Buffy asked, her voice barely audible as the air still burned in her lungs with a palpable stickiness.

"Sure, no problem."  Her worried gaze flicked to Giles as he climbed behind the wheel.  "I sent Elvis back to the caves.  If you could just…"

"Of course."  The car roared to life in his hands.  "Where to, Buffy?"

"Your place," she murmured, lids flickering closed.  "He'll be waiting…"

*************

The water stung as they washed out the grit that had ground into her palms, and Buffy winced, shoulders slumped, head bent.  She had insisted Cortina be seen to first, in spite of Spike's arguments, but now the two Englishmen were bustling around her like mother hens, bumping into the other as they fought to be the first to get the bandages, or the first to hold her hands still.

"You must think I'm a big old Slayer baby," she murmured, giving Giles a small smile of gratitude as he rinsed out the washcloth in the nearby sink.

"I think…you've had an incredibly difficult day," he replied.  "And you are coping remarkably well."

Her laughter was a sharp bark, punctuated with the sudden tears that sprang to her eyes, and her mouth twisted into a grimace as she brushed them away.  "I'd hate to see what your idea of _not_ coping looks like."

"Now that Cort's taken care of, you can get some good solid sleep," Spike said, pushing back the hair that had slipped over her brow.  "Thing's'll be better in the mornin'."  

_Liar_, she thought at him, and was rewarded with a crooked smile.

"Spike, can I…speak with you alone for a moment?"  Drying his hands on the towel, Giles turned to see two bemused sets of eyes watching him.  "What?" he asked.

"The talking alone thing doesn't work so well when we're in each other's head," Buffy replied.  "I mean, sometimes, if we're busy or distracted or something, it's easy to not pay attention, you know, to give the other one some privacy.  But if you think I've got the strength right now to stick my fingers in my ears and go 'la la la' while you talk about me behind my back, maybe I'm actually looking better than I feel, 'cause it's not going to happen."

"Oh."  The Watcher frowned, dropping the towel to the side as he leaned back against the sink.  "Well, I wanted to talk about…Joyce, actually."

"What about her?"  Spike's eyes narrowed.

"I know this might be…painful, but are you_ certain_ she was dead when you saw her the first time?"

"Yes."  Their answer was simultaneous, unfaltering, and Giles took a mental step back at the unanimity of the response.

"And you didn't search the house?  Is it possible she could've been moved to a different room?"  He didn't even want to think by what.

Spike shook his head.  "I didn't search, but I'd stake everything I've got she wasn't there.  The place didn't smell like death.  It smelled like…"  He stopped, searching for the right words.

"Like a hundred cotton candy booths all bunched up together," Buffy put forward.  "That kind of sickly sugary smell that gets stuck in the back of your throat.  And not in a good way."

Removing his glasses, the Watcher began chewing on the end, musing out loud as the thoughts tried to arrange themselves in his brain.  "If Joyce wasn't there, that only leaves two viable options.  Either she walked out on her own---somehow---or someone took her out of there."  Actually, there was a third choice, but somehow he thought that suggesting something could've eaten Joyce might be just a little too much for the young woman to hear right now.

"Why would they do that?  What could they possibly gain from stealing my Mom's body?"

Giles shrugged.  "I have no idea.  Perhaps we'll uncover something we've missed when we return to Cortina's.  This might narrow our search slightly."

Spike stood.  "Rupert's right.  We should probably get outta here before what's after Buffy susses out she's back in town."

"Make sure we let Will know not to say anything to Dawn when she gets back.  She doesn't need to be thinking there's anything wrong.  This is tough enough for her as it is."

"It's tough for you as well, Buffy."

She smiled at the gentle tone in her Watcher's voice.  "Yeah, but I've got years more experience dealing with death than she does."

"Not this kind."

Her mouth opened to argue, but the firm pressure of Spike's hand on her shoulder stayed her tongue.  _Don't do this_, he thought.  _Not now_.  Instead, she rose to her feet.  "So, research party at Cortina's?"

*************

When she heard the movement on the other side of the door, the white demon scurried away, resuming her seat on the couch so that they wouldn't know she'd been standing outside the bathroom door.  I've really got to stop eavesdropping, Cortina thought.  I so rarely like what I hear anyway.

She hadn't even meant to, but when the young redhead had left, the apartment had seemed too big, too empty, and she had really gone in search of company more than anything else.  Her hand had been halfway to the doorknob when she'd heard Spike start talking about the smell, and when Buffy only confirmed what she had feared in the first place, there was no way she could complete the path, her fingers falling back to her side as the thoughts tumbled about in her head.  Damn Travers for being right.

When Giles appeared in the doorway, Cortina automatically lifted her head, spreading a smile across her face that didn't quite meet the sorrow in her pale blue eyes.  "Willow left," she offered before he could say a word.  "She said now that the storm was past, she could just walk.  She didn't want us to have to waste time by taking her home."

"I'll call her," Buffy said, and crossed to the phone.

The cushions sagged slightly as he sat down at Cortina's side, his gaze searching her face before picking up her hands to examine the damage to her fingertips and wrists.  "How are you feeling?" Giles murmured.

"Just fine," she responded, but was glad he wasn't looking at her eyes when she said it.  If he had, there would've been no way he could've missed the pain that was reflected in their depths, or not heard the silent apology that flitted across her mind.  I'm so sorry, Rupert…

*************

Buffy stood in the doorway of the library, eyes fixed on the stacks of books that littered the desk and floor, and felt her stomach sink, the knot in her throat tighten as the prospect of hours of research began to sound way too much like not fun.  "I hate to sound too much like a spoil sport," she said, "'cause I realize that yes, this is all about saving my life here, but would you two mind if I…didn't…do _this_ right away?"  She gestured weakly toward the piles of literature, unable to tear her gaze away from it.

"Of course not," Giles replied.  "We hardly expect you to be pushing yourself so hard as it is."

"Just go back to the room and try to sleep, luv," came from Spike as he dropped himself into one of the chairs, reaching to pick up the nearest book.  "We'll take care of the brain work."

"Never would've pegged you for someone who likes research," she teased, letting her mouth lift into a half-smile.

His eyes were serious.  "It's not about the research," he said solemnly.  "It's about the answers.  Now go sleep."

She left Cortina's library, allowing her feet to automatically lead her off in the direction of their room, but couldn't help the sense of closeness around her head, the walls suddenly too near, her skin itching as if she was being eaten alive by millions of microscopic bugs desperate for a meal.  Gotta get out of here, she thought desperately.  Just need some fresh air.  I've spent too much time these past few weeks locked away in caves.

It took no time at all to escape into the cool night, and Buffy felt her heart pounding as she gazed up into the sky.  Hard to believe it was storming so badly just earlier today, she mused.  Even when…

She swallowed hard.  No.  Not going there.  Can't think about that.  Don't think period.  

Her shoes crunched quietly on the loose soil of the desert, hands stuffed deep inside her pockets, inhaling the crisp chill so that it spread like a frost inside her lungs, watching her breath become visible as she blew it out, only to repeat the process, enjoying the simplicity of such a simple act.  Don't take it for granted, not ever.  Even Spike could appreciate it now.  For those few minutes during the cleansing when he'd been human, he'd had to breathe, had felt the fragility of the whole thing, and given it back to her intact.  It still amazed her how he could've done it…given up the gift of a normal life just so that she wouldn't be robbed of hers.  He _chose_ that, and if ever she had had any doubt about the depth of his ability to love, they were banished with that clear-cut knowledge.

As she rounded the curve of the hill, Buffy's senses immediately picked up on the presence of another, and unconsciously she straightened, hazel eyes darting around to inspect the shadows, search for some sign of…

And there it was, a man's form, slinking away into the distance.  Whether he saw her or not was irrelevant.  Here, in the privacy of Cortina's caves, anyone visiting could not be good.

Buffy broke into a run, arms pumping as her steps grew louder in the clear air, carrying to the other's ears so that he straightened to look back.  His own pace quickened, but his speed was no match for hers, and she launched herself to tackle him, rolling with his dark form until they ended with her perched on top of his chest, knees pinning him down beneath her.

"You know, it's very rude to just show up unannounced," she said lightly, watching him struggle to free himself from her grasp.  "Didn't anyone ever teach you to call first?"

"I was just…out for a walk," he said, striving for nonchalance.  

"And how lame an alibi is that?"  She shook her head in mock dismay.  "At least if you're going to lie, you could make it a good one."  Her face hardened.  "So, let's just skip the usual quippage, OK?  Who are you and what do you want?"

His mouth was a grim line, and Buffy knew right away that he wasn't going to talk.  "Look," she went on, "you don't want to piss me off right now.  I've had a _really_ bad day."  When he remained silent, she felt the anger begin to boil in her gut, fingers of flame licking their way outward to surge to her skin, tightening around her nerve endings.  Before she could think, her fist shot, connecting with her captive's nose, and she felt it crumble beneath her force, the blood spurting so that he gasped, only to be cut off with a gurgle as she placed her hand around his throat. 

"I'm only going to ask one more time," she hissed, and let her grip start to squeeze…

*************

Stupid bloody G'trowen historians, Spike thought irritably, and tossed the book onto the table, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision.  Can't just come out and call an apocalypse, an apocalypse.  Have to spend six hundred fuckin' pages to say absolutely shit.

He felt his stomach rumble as he reached for another tome, and realized it had been twenty-fours since he'd had anything to eat.  Should've stopped by the crypt before coming back.  Don't think Cort's got any blood on supply on the off-chance a vampire stops by.  

The sudden watering of his mouth took him by surprise, though, and he frowned, sniffing at the air.  'Cept maybe I'm wrong, he thought.  'Cause that sure as hell smells like blood to me.  

If he hadn't been so absorbed in his reading, Spike might've sensed it sooner, heard what was going on outside the caves before the assault on his senses brought his demon to the front, his fangs elongating as the snarl rumbled from his throat, eyes blinking golden in the dim light of the library.  As it was, the unsolicited shift jerked him to his feet, causing him to stumble over the books stacked around his chair.

He saw it then, heard her…_ask one more time…_and felt the pressure on his own fingers as Buffy strangled the life out of the intruder underneath her.  The demon within trumpeted her on, but as Spike focused on the battle outside…_good girl, catch the beastie_…he picked up on what she was missing, and his vampire visage promptly disappeared.

_Buffy!_ he called, desperate to get her attention.

_I'm working here, Spike.  Can we do this later?_

_Working?  You're killing him!_

_I know._

And he felt the steely determination in her strength, tasted the bloodlust coursing through her veins…and panicked.

_You can't do this, luv.  He's not a demon.  He's human._

_…I don't care…_

He had no choice.  The fear that she would really do it, that she was about to cross that line Slayers weren't supposed to cross, was all too real in his mind, and Spike pushed his thoughts forward as he bolted from the room, his feet moving as fast as he could manage, careening through the corridors of the cave as he fought to reach her in time.

*************

It felt good, the life seeping from his skin as he panted and gasped for air, soaking into her flesh as it hungered for the taste of death.  Why had they never told her it could feel like this…?  The power…the crimson tide that swelled around her, carrying her in its heady embrace to…

And then it wasn't the man she was seeing, her own breath stopping as her mother's eyes looked back at her, blinking in sadness, a small smile on her lips as if she forgave her eldest daughter for the murder she was about to commit…

Buffy leapt off, flying backward as she scrambled to put as much distance as possible between her and her…She blinked.  No.  Not Mom.  The man.  The intruder.  The one who wouldn't speak.  Only he was making plenty of noises now, gurgling as he rolled onto his hands and knees, trying to breathe again, the blood dripping from his broken nose.  She'd been about to…no…she didn't do that…not Buffy…not the Slayer…not her…

"Bitch," he muttered.  

She wasn't meant to have heard it.  It had been low, under his breath, more of an autonomic response than anything directed specifically at her.  Still…she had, and the cold slap of reality it gave her dragged her back to her feet, staring down at his hunched form, eyes like ice as she stepped toward him.

"Told you, you didn't want to piss me off," she said.

"Buffy…luv…"

Only then did she stop, swiveling her head to stare at him outlined in the moonlight, platinum hair gleaming as he tentatively neared her.  "Wanna share?" she whispered.  "I kill him, and you get to eat."

"Not like this, luv."  His approach was methodical, like she was some rabid animal he needed to catch, and he kept his eyes locked on hers, the night creating two matching pools of ebony as the lovers regarded each other.  "It's not worth it."

"Yes.  It is."

Spike stepped again, once…twice.  "It's the grief.  Joyce wouldn't want…"

Buffy blinked.  "That was you," she said, suddenly making the connection.  "You made me think…"

"Had to.  You were killin' him."  She was within arm's reach now, and the vampire slowly extended his hand, pushing back the hair that curled against her cheek.

"Why would you do that?"  Her voice was a blend of incredulity, anger, and, most of all, pain, the words tripping from her tongue as her tears returned.

"'Cause I love you," he murmured, and pulled her into his arms, brushing his lips over the salt that spilled down her cheeks.  His gaze flickered to the man on the ground, who watched them in amazement, and his tone was low and angry.  "Run, you stupid git."

He didn't need to be told twice, scrambling to his feet to lurch into the darkness.  Behind him, the Slayer crumpled against the vampire, and Spike lifted her trembling body, turning away from the rising moon to carry her back into the cave.

To be continued in Chapter 10: The Comrade of Thy Wanderings…


	10. The Comrade of Thy Wanderings

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Joyce's missing body has struck Buffy hard and she very nearly killed a human intruder at Cortina's, only to be stopped in time by Spike.  The white demon has had some sort of confrontation with Quentin Travers, but she has yet to tell the Scoobies about any of the details…

*************

When he emerged from the stacks, it took him a moment to realize Spike was no longer in the room, the book he'd been reading shoved dispiritedly aside, the piles around his chair knocked askew.  Giles frowned, glancing at the door.  It had to have been urgent for the vampire to leave in such a hurry, which meant it had to be about Buffy.  The question of whether he should investigate further flitted across his mind, but he quickly dismissed it.  Right now, she needed the type of comfort Spike could offer, and, for whatever reason, the Watcher knew that she would get it.

Research so far had been slow, the answers few.  Twice now, possibilities had arisen that had excited him, only to be tossed aside when further reading rendered them out of the question, but his greatest surprise had come from Spike.  He knew the vampire was intelligent, had suspicions about his education prior to being turned, but his diligence in searching through the texts, the questions he had posed, hinted at an insight Giles suspected ran deeper than anyone had ever realized.  Well, except for Buffy, he hastily amended.  And perhaps Willow.  And Cortina had certainly sung Spike's praises strongly enough.  He hesitated, almost physically shaking his head in self-reprimand.  Perhaps estrogen was a requirement to appreciate the blond vampire right away.

He was lost in the words before him when he heard the door open and then softly close, the quiet click only momentarily diverting him from his reading.  Everything must be better, he thought, and waited for the steps to come join him at the desk, one hand absently pushing his glasses further back onto his nose.

"Rupert…"

Her voice was hauntingly low, an airy melody that never ceased to surprise him, and he felt the familiar tightening across his thighs at the sound of it.  Although he'd never been truly fond of his first name, somehow, Cortina's lips almost made it sound sensual, and it was with a slight smile that he turned to look back at her.

"You should be…"  The next word was supposed to be "resting," but it got caught in his throat, disappearing as he drank in the sight of her, caught yet again in her web.

Her hair was down, flowing around her bare shoulders in a silken white sheath, forcing the eye to follow it downward, to trace over the exposed ivory flesh.  The gown she wore---if it could even be called that---was a gossamer wing that left little to the imagination, her dark nipples shadowed only slightly as they stood erect beneath the translucence, the sharp curve of her hips offering the promise of lush pleasures.  The effect was startling…and quite literally took Giles' breath away.

She didn't say a word, merely lifted her arm to hold out her hand to him, standing there waiting, as if there was no doubt in her mind that he would come.  The smile that curled her lips when he stood didn't quite meet the pale blue of her eyes, but the Watcher didn't even notice, taking her invitation with care, gently curling his fingers around hers so as not to disturb her bandages, and in silence, was led from the room.

*************

Her bedroom was in near darkness, the only illumination a single candle flickering on the nightstand, and Giles felt himself swallowed up by the closeness of the air, the heat within belying the cold he knew was outside.  As he closed the door behind them, he felt Cortina's hands slip around his waist, sliding up the front of his shirt as she pressed herself into his back, deftly beginning to undo the buttons even with the hindrance of her recent wounds.  His arousal stiffened, and his own fingers met hers to hasten her movements.

"No," she said, batting him away.  "Don't help.  I want to do this."

He turned in her embrace then, gazing down at the downcast eyes so intent on their work.  With one hand, he pushed back the hair that had tumbled over her shoulder, baring the deceptively fragile-looking flesh, and traced the fine line of her clavicle.  "This does not constitute resting," Giles murmured.

"It will when we're done," she teased, glancing up at him through her pale lashes.

He chuckled, and felt her palms meet his chest as she slid the shirt from his torso, suddenly rapt with circling his skin with her own.  She seemed to be everywhere, hands dancing…fingers sliding…massaging the muscles of his upper arms…outlining his nipples with a single nail…each touch sending a cascade of tremors through his body.  The moan escaped his throat, and this time he couldn't stop, scooping her face between his hands to tilt her head back, leaning in to brush his lips over hers.  

For such a feather touch, the electrical charge that leapt between them was staggering, sucking at both of them to draw them closer, mouths pressing harder as they parted, allowing the other one entrance to the fire within.  Giles' eyes fluttered shut, the unceasing sensations of Cortina's fingers combined with the sweet tang of her kiss creating a kaleidoscope behind his lids that seared as well as surged.  He wanted to just grab her, to throw her back on the bed and plunge inside---kissing her always seemed to draw out the beast in him---but he knew, could tell from the way she let her hands slide over him, that that wasn't what she wanted.  And if nothing else, the thing that got Rupert Giles off harder than anything was giving a woman what she wanted.

She was guiding him backwards, towards the bed, steering him from obstacles in the path without breaking the contact between them.  When he felt the edge of the mattress press into his knees, he started to turn, only to be stopped yet again by the white demon as she tore herself away from his lips to stare up at him.  Her face was half in shadow, one side brightened by the nearby candlelight, the other veiled in black, and Giles just stood there frozen, mesmerized by the pale blue irises, his very breath hanging on the path of her delicate fingers as they dropped to the waistband of his trousers.

"Cortina…" he murmured, but was silenced from speaking further by the return of her lips to his.

"Sshhhh…" she whispered into his mouth, breath both hot and cold.

It was the only cloud in the pleasure that suffused his body and he felt it flit in and out of his mind as she continued disrobing him.  Regardless of the mood---playful, violent, tender---Cortina was a very vocal lover, sometimes chatting, often spurring him on with words either dirty or dainty, always allowing her enjoyment to escape through sounds or screams.  For her now to ask him to be quiet, to be so silent herself, meant something…although, with the headiness of his own response to her expert touch, Giles was in no position currently to analyze it.

He gasped as she wrapped her hand around his erection, reminded yet again of the demon strength housed within her frame, sliding up its length in languor.  The muscles in his legs quivered, tightening as she pumped, and it felt distinctly as if the floor was pitching beneath his feet.

Cortina's face was solemn as she separated from him, using one hand to push him gently back onto the bed, freeing his trousers from his ankles as she did so.  This was about Rupert…this was _for_ Rupert…but just the sight of him lying sprawled there…one arm behind his head, the other at his side…the long, lean lines of his torso joining into his narrow hips…made her mouth water, to forget her purpose, to hear him scream her name…

He watched as she pulled the straps from her shoulders, allowing the fragile fabric to fall to the ground, and Giles' eyes darkened to black pinpoints as she stepped out of it, pale flesh gleaming in the dancing orange of the light.  Her breathing was labored, breasts rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm, and he found his own lungs straining to work properly, especially when she leaned forward and stretched her body over the length of his.  His arms came down, fingers sinking into the curve of her hips, mouth opening to welcome hers.

They were both hungry, tearing into the kiss like it was their last, or their first, and everything slipped away, the two lovers wrapped in the moment of black velvet as their bodies strained to complete each other.  As Cortina lifted her pelvis, positioning herself, Giles curled one arm around her waist to hold her closer, forcing her to work for the penetration, tightening his grip as she found him…swallowed him…burying his hardness deep within her until she felt the bones of their hips grinding into each other.  

She was the one who regulated their movement, so slowly at first that he thought he'd scream from the intensity…then picking up speed, barely even noticeable…drawing him deeper…and all the while, her lips on his, as if by breaking the kiss…kisses, really…she'd be letting loose some lifeline…and not once did either of them make a sound.

Cortina came first, letting herself go, knowing that he would purposely hold back until he knew she was satisfied, and rode the waves of her orgasm clinging to his shoulders, legs wrapped around his.  He quickened his thrusts, plunging and driving until his own excitement peaked, his body shuddering with the release.  Giles buried his face in her neck, using her flesh to muffle his cries, remembering her inexplicable desire for quiet in spite of his own need to scream out, and she smiled, rubbing her cheek against his hair.

"I do adore you, Rupert," she murmured, uncertain if he could actually hear her, but at the moment, not really caring, her need to just say the words stronger than knowing he was aware of them.

As his body slowly stopped tremoring, Giles slid his lips up the side of her neck, meeting her cheek before pulling back to gaze into her pale eyes.  "And here I thought I was just your boy toy," he teased.  "You couldn't have left me that one little fantasy?"

Cortina laughed, pressing her forehead against his, unwilling to break the contact of their bodies just yet.  "I just want you to know how much you mean to me," she said.  "You do know that…right?"

He smiled, holding her as he rolled onto his side, letting her settle in the circle of his arms.  "It's quite surprising, actually," he commented, brushing back a stray lock of hair from her forehead.  "For two people as obsessed with words as we are, we seem to do our best communicating without them."

She couldn't help matching his smile with one of her own.  "Is that a yes, then?"

His reply was a gentle kiss.

*************

She sat on the bed, arms hugging her knees to her chest, swaying back and forth as the tears slowly lessened.  "What's happening?" Buffy asked, her voice a tremulous whisper.  "Why does it feel like I'm falling and falling and everything around me is turning black?"

"That's grief, luv."  He sat opposite her, as close as he could while still not touching, eyes fixed on her swollen face.  

She lifted her head to stare at him.  "No," she said.  "It's not. It's something else.  And it's scaring me."

"Do you want to talk 'bout what happened out there?"

"Honestly?  No.  Do I think I should?  Probably yeah.  But you can ask all the questions you want.  I don't think I know any of the answers."

Spike chose his next words carefully.  "You…wanted…to kill that bloke."

Her laughter was almost hysterical.  "And you know what really bites?" she said.  "I can't even lie about it because you'll know."  He watched as she rubbed furiously at the dampness of her cheeks.  "I don't know why.  I just felt…I had to.  I _needed_ to.  I wanted him dead.  And it didn't make a difference to me that he wasn't even a demon.  He was just some guy who was wandering around in the desert, although why I have no idea, and I wanted to tear his head off and feed it to Elvis."

This was the time to bring it up.  He knew it.  He could see what was happening to her, and in a sick way, it explained what was happening to him.  But was she ready to hear it?  What difference could it possibly make if she understood?  But he knew the answer to that, and knew he really didn't have a choice.

"Stop thinking so much," Buffy scolded.  "You're giving me a headache."

Slowly, Spike slid over so that he was sitting next to her, taking her nearest hand in his and tracing the lines of her palm.  "We need to talk about the cleansing, pet."

"The cleansing?"  Her voice was cloudy with confusion.  "Why?  What does that have to do with anything?"

"'Cause that's when all this started.  'Cause it's not just you."  He tilted his head to look up into her bloodshot eyes.  "There's stuff goin' on inside me, too.  Stuff I wasn't payin' too much attention to at first, but it's snowballing, just like you are.  And if we don't suss it out, and suss it out soon, it's goin' to eat us alive.  And any wind demon thing is goin' to seem like cake in comparison."

Her face suddenly seemed old, and tired, and scared, and she looked at him with fear.  "What is it?  What's going on with us?"

"I think…pieces of us got…left in the other," Spike said slowly.  "Like, you're not just Buffy anymore, and I'm not just Spike."

He watched as her lips curved into a smile.  "Well, duh," she commented.  "Welcome to the world of obvious."

"No," he argued.  "It's more than that.  You don't think I don't know what bloodthirst tastes like?  'Cause that's what it was, luv, whether you want to admit it or not."

She sobered then, and he felt like an ass for having to say it out loud, to make her feel like such a child when they both knew that the feelings were overwhelming to handle.  "So…" Buffy started, "you think it's turning me into a demon or something?  One day, I'm going to wake up and you and I will be Mr. and Mrs. Bumpy Forehead?"

Spike shook his head.  "I don't know," he admitted.  "But something's makin' you want to kill.  Just like something's makin' me…"  The vampire stopped, unable to find the words that he thought would be able to describe the feelings he'd been experiencing, the unresolved fear that seemed to grip him out of nowhere.  He tried again.  "Like tonight.  When I went to your house.  I was…it made me…"  Letting her loose, he dropped his head into his hands.  "Fuck," he muttered.  "And I thought love was hard."

It came off him in waves, and Buffy rested her hand on leg, desperate to help.  "You were scared," she said softly.

"Wrong," he said into his hands, and then looked up.  "I was fuckin' terrified.  So shit-faced scared that my bloody hands were shakin'.  And of what?  Seein' a dead body?"  He snorted.  "I used to bathe in blood, walked through fields of corpses, didn't faze me one iota.  Now, all of a sudden, I've gone soft, turned into a regular nancy boy 'til I don't even recognize myself anymore."  Flecks of gold danced in the depths of blue as he stared at the woman next to him.  "And I hate it."

She took a deep breath.  "We need to tell Giles."

"I hate it when you're right, too."

Picking up his hand, Buffy laced her fingers through his, pulling him against her in an embrace that was both needing and giving.  "You said it this afternoon," she murmured.  "And it's true.  Whatever happens, we're in this together.  You and me.  And nothing's going to change that."

Spike lost himself in the golden length of her hair, biting back the tears.  There was more she needed to know---so much more---but there would be time enough for that later.  Now…it was time for rest.

*************

The library door seemed too loud in the hushed slumber of the caves, and she slipped inside as quickly as she could, leaving it ajar so that her exit could be more silent.  She didn't even bother with the light; the book she wanted had stayed in exactly the same place for the last hundred years, its placement etched in her memory like a recurring nightmare, and Cortina knew she could find it with her eyes closed and both hands tied behind her back.  Though she knew they would have questions in the morning, and undoubtedly some rather strong reactions, she also knew that this would give them some answers, and in light of what she was about to do, that was the least she could offer them…even if it didn't do them any good.

It was there.  A single thin volume, bound in black, no title on its spine.  They would never have found it.  It was designed specifically to be overlooked, for its oblations to remain hidden from casual eyes, and no amount of searching by Giles, or Willow, or Buffy would've brought it to light.  

Sliding it from the shelf, decades of dust settled around her, and Cortina sneezed, covering her mouth and nose in an attempt to stifle the noise.  She didn't want to wake them; they would never understand.  She could only hope that this might ease some of their confusion.

She returned to the desk, glancing around at the piles of books already there.  It had to look casual, like one of them had already pulled it out, yet she had to place it so that it would be easily and quickly found and, more importantly, read.  She decided on a stack in the center, easing the top tome aside to rest the black book underneath it, replacing the first slightly askew so that it looked more disorderly before stepping back to examine her handiwork.  There, she thought.  That'll work, and quickly turned around to leave the room.

Even without the library light on, she saw him in the doorway, clad only in his trousers, chest bare as he leaned against the door jamb.  The illumination from the hall behind him did nothing to reveal his face, but she didn't need it.  Cortina could feel his blue eyes boring into her.

"What are you doing?" Giles asked, his voice a mere murmur.

"I couldn't sleep," she replied, affecting a bright smile.  "Thought I might do some reading."  She edged herself sideways, trying to hide the desk behind her.

"You're a terrible liar."  There was no mistaking the edge in his voice.  "So I'm going to ask you again, and this time, I'd appreciate the truth.  What are you doing?"

Her smile vanished.  "Why couldn't you have stayed asleep?" she said, stepping forward, closing the distance between them.  "This would've been so much simpler if you'd just stayed asleep."

"That sounds strangely like good bye," Giles said.  "In fact, this whole night…that's what you've been doing ever since we left Sunnydale.  Do you think I'm stupid?  Do you think I don't notice these things?  If Quentin Travers threatened you in some way, we'll deal with it.  It doesn't give you carte blanche to just run away."

"You can't stop me."  There was no point in denying it; he was right.

"I hate to think I'd have to."

"You don't understand---."

"Because you haven't given me a chance!"  His frustration erupted and he straightened, gripping her shoulders, his knuckles white.  "I bloody well love you, Cortina.  I refuse to allow you to walk out of my life just as casually as you walked into it."

If he hadn't said the words, she could've done it.  She'd been ready, prepared to leave without getting a proper farewell, knowing that facing them would've just made it harder.  It would've been like pretending it was all just one great game, no feelings getting hurt---well, not too hurt anyway---but that wasn't going to be possible now.  Not after hearing it.  And now it was going to hurt even more…for all of them…

To be continued in Chapter 11: Tameless…


	11. Tameless

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Cortina decided to run away without telling anyone, only to be stopped by Giles, while Buffy and Spike are starting to see that the changes that have been happening to them recently have not all been good…

*************

The sun was bright, flooding the earth like an over-exposed picture, and he had to squint behind his glasses in order to see the forms on the playground.  Bloody great, he thought.  Another one of Buffy's dreams.  His initial irritation was eased, however, when the realization that it meant the Slayer was finally sleeping crossed his mind.  Must mean she's around here somewhere, he mused, and began scanning the people who mingled about.

When he saw Joyce sitting on the bench, Spike froze, eyes fixed on the top of her head as she looked down at the book in her lap.  One of her hands absently played with the blanket that trailed out of the nearby pushchair, and even from that distance, he could see the small smile on her lips, his eyes starting to brim with tears as he realized what Buffy was doing.  Gotta play it out, he thought, brushing angrily at the salt that slipped down his cheek, and marched over to the edge of the play area.

"Hi, Joyce," he said, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

She looked up, her smile widening, tilting her head in that I'm-not-really-annoyed-but-I-should-pretend-to-be mum way, and it was all he could do not to hug her on the spot.  "Now, William," she said.  "You better not let your mother hear you call me that.  You know how she hates it."

"Oh.  Right.  Sorry, Ms. Summers."  That was when he realized that, though she was sitting and he was standing, he was meeting her at eye level.  Spike frowned, glancing down at his body, and had to bite back the curses that automatically sprang to his lips.  No wonder he couldn't find Buffy.  She'd made both of them kids in this little romp through Memoryland, which meant…His hands went to his face and he scowled.  Yep.  Stupid glasses.

"I suppose you've lost Buffy again," she said, recapturing his attention.  "I swear, if you don't keep a closer eye on her, you're going to lose her for good one of these days."

Although her tone was light, the words frightened him, and Spike cocked his head to stare at her.  "Can you tell me where she is?" he asked slowly.  "I promise this time---."

Her tsking was matched by the slight wave of her finger.  "Don't go making promises you can't keep," she warned, and the same chill went over his spine.  It didn't sound like Joyce.  She'd never been like that.  If he didn't know better…

His head jerked around, searching the other benches, blue eyes dancing from one mother to the next, watching as this one picked her baby up from the pram and that one leaned over to help her son tie his shoe.  "She's not here," Joyce said behind him, and the words stung.  "She asked me to keep an eye on you for a while."

He wasn't going to turn around.  Not Joyce, he reasoned. She's dead.  Just a dream.  "Where's Buffy?" he repeated, his voice hard.  

Her sigh was unmistakable.  "Buffy's where she always is," she replied.  "On the merry-go-round."

That area of the playground was deserted, and Spike knew she didn't see him as he approached, her long hair trailing behind her as she pushed the empty wheel in circles before jumping on to ride out the speed.  Without having her pointed out, he wasn't sure he would've known it was her, her face mostly hidden as she played, her voice silent in spite of the laughter that came from the other children.  It was only when it slowed to a stop and Buffy hopped off, glancing up and noticing him for the first time, was he certain.  It was the eyes.  It would always be her eyes.

"You wanna ride?" she asked.  "It's super fun.  I'll even push."  She was already getting her hands into position on the bars.

"Buffy…"

He saw her shoulders stiffen, head whirling to look at him, and the smile spread across her face like wildfire.  "Spike!" she yelled, and leapt, tackling him so that they went tumbling to the ground, rolling in the dirt until they finished with her straddling him.  "Look," she giggled.  "I'm on top again."

"And you're…bloody heavy…" he gasped, pushing at her legs so that she wasn't sitting on his chest.

Buffy slid her bottom down so that it rested on his hips and sat up, gazing at his face quizzically.  "You look way different," she commented.  "I forgot you wore glasses before you were turned.  And your hair."  She reached out and twisted a couple of the light-brown curls between her fingers, another giggle escaping her lips.  "You're a geek."

"Am not!"  Heaving with all the strength the child's body allowed him, Spike pushed her from atop him, sliding back so that he could scramble back to his feet.  "It's _your_ stupid dream," he reminded.  "Although…"  His voice trailed off, his brows knitted together as he looked around at the cheer that surrounded them.  "Kinda Mary Poppins, don't you think?  You know…considerin'…"

She immediately sobered.   "I used to play here a lot when I was a kid," she started.  "Well, not _here_ exactly.  It didn't look quite like this, but…pretty close."  Her face grew pensive as she looked around the perimeter of the park.  "Some of my easiest memories are of this place.  Mom would sit over there and read, while I'd run around and do the playing thing.  Sometimes, even Dad would show up on his lunch break or something."

Spike frowned, scanning the adults in the area.  "Is he here now?"

Buffy laughed.  "God no.  Wouldn't _that_ just be too much fun…"  Sitting down on the edge of the merry-go-round, her face crumpled as her sneakered foot kicked at the dirt.  "I just realized…I have to call him.  Tell him about Mom."  Her eyes were shiny as she looked over at him.  "How come I'm only just now thinking of that?  Huh?  Told you I was a rotten daughter."

"You're not."  He sat down next to her, the silver bar separating their thighs, and took her hand in his.  "It's only just happened.  You've got to be patient with yourself."

"I'm going to have to start paying you for all the free therapy you keep giving me," Buffy joked harshly.

"Nope.  Won't happen.  'Cause if you do that, it totally mucks up the whole sleeping together thing."  His blue eyes twinkled behind the lenses of his glasses.  "Wouldn't be ethical for the doctor to be shagging his patient."  His smile faded.  "So why aren't you over with your mum, luv?  Why're you playin' all by yourself?"

"I'm not.  Not anymore."

His head tilted.  "Y'know what I mean.  Guess you were always just a little thick, huh?"  When she punched him playfully in the arm, his grin returned.  "And you always answer first with your fist.  Nice to know some things never change."

"_She_ did."  Her hazel eyes were fixed on Joyce's form on the bench.  "When the dream started, I was sitting with her.  It was nice…at first…and then…"  Buffy glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.  "You're going to think I'm weird."

"Too late for that, so try me."

"She started…talking about things.  Slaying things.  Things I never told her about.  And, yeah, I know it's just a projection of my subconscious; I did get _something_ out of psych class, thank you very much.  But, it wasn't _what_ she was saying so much as…_how_.  Like…I can't believe I'm even saying this…it made her hungry.  And it gave me the wiggins.  So I told her I was going to play for a while."

For once, he was glad of the privacy the dreams gave them, that Buffy couldn't see inside his head, that she couldn't feel the sense of dread that oozed around his heart at her observations regarding Joyce.  So it wasn't just him.  He hadn't been imagining it.  Dream Joyce could've stepped straight out of his nightmares and into Buffy's, but somehow, having that knowledge in hand didn't make him feel any better.

"So let's play," he said, hopping to his feet.  "All we're goin' to get to do when we wake up is work on gettin' some of these riddles sorted, so we might as well enjoy this while we can."

"You wanna push or you wanna ride?"

His smile was crooked.  "You've been goin' at it a bit, pet.  Why don't you let me push so you can just have fun, 'kay?"  The kiss she planted on his cheek was unexpected, and Spike felt himself blush as she clambered onboard.

"You're kind of cute for a geek, you know that?" she said, as she settled herself down, tossing him a quick smile.

He didn't respond, just shook his head, and grabbed hold of the silver bar to begin the ride for her.  Their mingled laughter floated through the park, catching the attention of several of the adults, who watched the two children play, but nobody noticed when Joyce lifted her head, her eyes fixed on the pair, nor did they see when the book in her hands dissipated into dust, catching on the wind to float off in the direction of the merry-go-round.  It was just as well.  Buffy and Spike were having too much fun.

*************

He knew there was blood dried on his face, but he also knew he had to report back as quickly as possible, lest anyone started suspecting something went amiss and came after him.  He liked his job; the last thing he wanted to do was jeopardize it.  He just had to make sure that nobody found out that he'd been seen, since that had been the only really explicit part of his orders.

When he saw the light in the hallway, though, he froze, his heart suddenly pounding.  Shit.  In the three days they'd been set up in the abandoned building, this light had never been on, which could only mean that someone was actually here waiting for him.  He wanted to run, but knew he wouldn't.  Face the music.  Take it on the chin.  Even if Quentin Travers did scare the holy crap out of him.

"At least tell me you know where they are," he heard Quentin say as he stepped into his quarters.  No hi-how-are-you.  Straight for the jugular.

"Yes, sir," he said, back rigid, eyes focused forward.  "I can take you there whenever you wish, sir."

"You'll be needing medical attention first.  Is it broken?"

"Yes.  I think so, sir."

Quentin's eyes narrowed.  "Who did it?  Rupert?  Spike?  Although with his chip---."

"It was the Slayer."  His eyes grew thunderous at the memory.  "She's dangerous, sir.  She would've killed me---."  
"Don't exaggerate."  All gentility was stripped from Travers' voice.  "Buffy Summers is one of the best Slayers we've had this century.  She would never kill a human being."

"No offense, sir, but I think your intelligence regarding the Slayer may be outdated.  She was ready to do it, and she would've, too, if it wasn't for the vampire."

Travers frowned.  "Spike?  What did he do?"

"He talked her down, kept her back so that I could get out of there."

"Do you know why?"

"No, sir."

Quentin rose from his seat near the bed, forehead wrinkled as his brain worked at the conundrum posed before him.  Their information regarding the cleansing was perfunctory, at best, and though they knew the effects had liberated the children of the wind, they were not prepared for adverse ramifications that may make the Slayer a potential threat.  And yet…she had been stopped…by Spike, no less.  Perhaps it wasn't quite as bad as this employee painted.

"I will send the doctor up to tend to your injury," Quentin said as he strolled toward the door.  "I suggest you…rest.  You will need your strength for later."

*************

She wouldn't let him touch her, though his hands itched to just grab her by the shoulders and hold her down.  Instead, Giles had to watch as Cortina paced around the edges of the library, her fingers trailing along the shelves, occasionally reaching out to touch a spine of a book, all the while refusing to meet his eyes.  He leaned against the closed door behind him, sighing. 

"How much longer are you going to keep this up?" he asked quietly.  "You're going to have to speak to me sooner or later."

"I vote for later."

"And I vote for sooner."

"So it's a draw."  She stood behind the desk, pale blue eyes sweeping over the scattered texts on its surface.  "Do you not teach your protégés to clean up after themselves?  It's going to take me forever to reorganize all this."

"You're changing the subject."

"Hard to change it when we didn't really have one in the first place."

"Damn it, Cortina!  This is not a time for playing games!"

The muscles in his arms were tightly sprung, and she could see him fighting to maintain control as he folded them across his chest, his hands bunched into fists under his armpits.  It ached to know she was the reason for it, and with a sigh of resignation, the white demon sank into one of the chairs.

"You're right.  It's not."  She pulled out the chair next to her and angled it toward her.  "Would you sit over here, please?" she asked.  "I'm a glutton for punishment."

He didn't need to be told twice.  Within seconds, Giles had crossed the room, seating himself opposite her, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees as his hands stroked her leg through her robe.  "Did he threaten you?" he murmured.  "Is that what you're afraid of?"

Cortina laughed.  "Quentin Travers may be a pompous, calculating jerk, but he is most definitely not the source of my fear.  Although, I will give him credit.  He is _very_ good at his job."

"So what happened?  I assume they're interested in studying you…that that was their purpose in abducting you in the first place."

"Oh, Rupert."  She sighed, her head bending so that her hair fell over her face, a snowy shield that hid her from him.  "This would be so much easier if I didn't care about you."

"Cortina…look at me…"

"I can't.  I can't…bear to see the disappointment in those gorgeous eyes of yours."

"Disappointed?  Why would I…?"

"Because I'm not who you think I am."  She looked up then, unable to resist the pull.  "Or rather, I'm more than you think I am.  And more is not better.  It's such a long story.  I don't even know where to start."

"Start with this."  Leaning over, Giles extracted the book Cortina had so carefully placed in middle of the table, holding it up between them until she looked at it.  "I saw you pull this out, and I saw you deliberately place it in a spot so that we would find it in the morning.  What's in it that you so desperately wanted us to see?"

It was easier to focus on the black binding than on his face.  "Some of your answers," she said softly.  "That book is the only one of its kind in existence.  All the rest have been destroyed."

"And what is it?"

"Wrong question," she murmured.  "Don't you want to know where I got it from?"

"All right."  Giles took a deep breath and lowered the book.  "Where did you get it?"

Her pale eyes were sad.  "I stole it.  Over a hundred years ago.  From…the Council libraries.  Now go ahead and ask the next question."

"…Why?"

"So that they couldn't have it."  Her voice dripped with venom, in spite of the unshed tears that had suddenly sprung into her pale eyes, and she smiled.  "Now.  Aren't you glad you decided to follow me?  I told you it would've been better if you'd just stayed asleep."

Gently laying the book back on the desk, Giles returned his hands to her knees, massaging the tight muscles of her legs as he contemplated his next words.  "I meant what I said," he finally managed.  "I like my life much better with you in it.  Whatever this is that's…troubling you, I want you to know that I'm here to understand.  But I can't do that if you don't tell me what exactly is going on."

Cortina took a long time to answer.  Settling against the back of her chair, her gaze grew pensive as she just looked at the Englishman's face, memorizing the lines as if they were sustenance.  "I don't like hurting people I care about," she finally said.

"I know that---."

"You know that of me _now_," she interrupted.  "That wasn't…always the case."

"We all have a past."  He shook his head.  "I know whereof I speak, remember?"

The air in her lungs burned as she held her breath, but found herself unable to let it out, the confession inside burrowing its way to the surface.  "I…know…what's after Buffy and Spike."  

It was the last thing he expected to hear.  "You know…"  Giles straightened, hands sliding back onto his own lap.  "Wait.  Did you say…Buffy _and_ Spike?"

Cortina nodded.  "That's what Travers wanted to talk about---."

The mention of his employer's name caused the tension inside him to erupt.  "Travers is in on this?" he demanded.  "What in bloody hell is the Council trying to---?"

Her hand snaked out and gripped his wrist, stopping him from bolting from his chair.  "They're trying to save her," she hissed.  "They're doing everything in their power to get them back under control---."

"Them?  _Back_ under control?  Are you trying to tell me that they are the ones responsible for whatever threat is out there?"

"No, I'm not!"  Her own anger was rising, but hers was born in frustration, not the fury and hatred that was seething in the Watcher.  Picking up the book, Cortina thrust it at him.  "It's all in here.  Read it.  It'll explain it a helluva lot better than I am!"

Giles just stared at the text, his rage clenching around his skin like a strait jacket.  "Just.  Tell me."  Dangerous blue eyes met her pale ones.  "What are they…and how do we kill them?"

"The Council calls them, the children of the wind.  That's how they travel…when they're free to do so.  In the demon world, they go by another name, one that is just a little more…descriptive."  Her chin lifted.  "We call them the Soul Eaters…and you can't…kill them, I mean…"

To be continued in Chapter 12: Through My Lips…


	12. Through My Lips

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Cortina has told Giles that she knows what is after Buffy and Spike.  They are called the Soul Eaters…

*************

She wanted to touch him, to feel him holding her, telling her that this was all a bad dream and that it was time to wake up.   But it wasn't.  And she couldn't.  Not until he knew the whole story.  And even then…the choice to touch would have to be his.

Cortina's fingers traced the delicate edge of the spine, her pale eyes locked on the book in her hands.  "You have no idea how much I'm fighting starting, 'Once upon a time in a land far, far away,'" she joked, although there was no levity in her tone, the somberness of the air weighing her words with lead.  "Because the irony of it is, it's the most apt beginning for all this."

"Fairy tales are for children," Giles said, his eyes unintentionally hard behind the lenses of his glasses.  "And we're not children."

"I don't suppose you have kids," she mused.  "Of your own, I mean.  Somewhere…back in England maybe…an accident from your Ripper days, perhaps?"

There was no mistaking his frown.  "No, not that I know of.  Why are you changing the subject again?  I've asked---."

"I'm not."  She looked up, determined to face this head-on, and swallowed hard.  "Please.  Bear with me.  I haven't told this story in over a hundred years.  I might be a little…rusty."

Against his will, Giles felt some of his frustration dissipate, the pain that was etched across her fine features lending its own flame to the fire inside him.  Whatever it was she had to share, it was eating her up, and he was powerless to help…not until he knew the entire tale.  "All right," he murmured, and leaned back into the chair.  "I'll trust you on this."

"I know you love Buffy as if she were your own," Cortina started, "and I know that many of those feelings transfer to her friends, as well.  I'm sure if asked, you'd do just about anything for her.  And that's good.  That's as it should be.  For you."  There was a slight hitch in her voice as she continued.  "But when they're _yours_…when you've borne them…suffered for them…bled for them…and something comes along and takes all that away…you break, and when you put yourself together again…sometimes you find that…you're different.  Things are different.  The world is different.  And you don't care."

"You're not saying these creatures that are after Buffy are yours, are you?"

She couldn't help but laugh, unable to contain herself at the absurdity.  "God, no.  Not only are they centuries older than me, they're an entirely different species."

"I'm sorry.  It's just…you're talking of children, and you said the Council calls them the 'children of the wind.'  I assumed---."

"That's just a euphemism they've coined so that they can fit them into one of their neat little boxes," she replied.  "To catalog them away under their demonic texts."

"Then…"  Giles frowned.  "You've never mentioned anything about having your own children."

"Because I don't.  Not anymore.  They're dead."

For the first time since she'd started, Giles leaned forward, reaching out to stroke her cheek as the tears spilled silently over her skin.  "I'm so sorry," he murmured.  

She shrugged.  "It was a long time ago.  It's almost funny, because I was actually thinking I was finally past all this.  This week…meeting you…for the first time in years, I managed to forget.  I was actually planning for the future.  I haven't done that in ages, not to any serious degree.  I had one job, one focus, and that was to hide.  To make sure that no one could find me.  And then when they finally do, it's because I decided to take a risk and open my door to you.  How's that for irony?"

"I don't suppose Quentin told you how he discovered your presence?" Giles queried.  "I assure you, I didn't---."

Cortina cut him off with a shake of her head.  "I know.  You're not going to want to hear this because it's just going to make you angrier at him, but when they came and did their little show-and-tell with Buffy about Glory, they set up surveillance on all the Scoobies, as well you and Buffy.  That's how they found me.  Not because of anything you did.  Because of their own intervention.  And their inability to let sleeping dogs lie."

There was a moment of silence as Giles dropped his hands to his lap, eyes down as he digested her words.  "I had originally thought they had abducted you in order to study your species," he finally said.  "I'm beginning to suspect that perhaps my assumption was a little naïve."

"Will I be hurting my case if I say I find that wonderfully endearing?" Cortina murmured.  "That, in spite of everything you've ever done in your life, there is this hopeless romantic buried deep within you that desperately wants to believe in the best in those around him?"

"Forgive me if I don't agree with your assessment."

"No, I don't suppose you would."

"So, if their purpose was not for studying, why did the Council kidnap you?"

She smiled.  "And here we cut to the nitty gritty."  Gently returning the book in her hands to the desk, the white demon averted her eyes, keeping her face in profile so that she could continue without having to see the effects her words would have on him.  "Quentin Travers wanted to make a deal with me.  If I would agree to help them with the Soul Eaters, they would exonerate me from all my past misdeeds, and I could return to a life where I wouldn't have to hide anymore."

"But you said…they can't be killed."

"They can't.  But they can be bound.  And for the Council, that's good enough."

"And this…history is what you're trying to run away from now?"

"No."  Her denial was firm, and took Giles by surprise, lifting his gaze to watch the play of emotions across her skin.  "I'm not proud of what I was, but I've accepted it.  My original exile wasn't an attempt to renounce it.  I ran a century ago because I was being hunted for what I did.  I had a nickname, too, at one point, although it wasn't nearly as charming as Ripper."  She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry.  "I was renowned as Cortina the Destroyer, because I ensured that everything I touched turned to dust.  There were those I felt had wronged me, so I sought them out…and if I didn't kill them outright, I tortured them to such a degree that they'd end up begging to die."  Glancing out of the corner of her eye, Cortina saw the frown creasing the Watcher's brow.  "Does hearing this…shock you?" she asked.

"I'd be lying if I said no," he murmured.

"It's all right.  I know you spend most of the time we're together trying to forget that I'm actually a demon and you're not.  Hell, I do it myself.  But it doesn't change the reality of it.  When it comes to things that mean a lot to me…my friendships, my family, my loves…I've always been reactionary, and not always in a good way."  She waited for some kind of a response---anything---but was met with only silence.  Not going to look at him, she vowed silently.  I can't.  Just go on.  Do it.  Tell him the whole story.  

"How much do you know about the local legends?" she asked.

"Regarding you and the Lookout?"  Cortina nodded.  "Well, there are the tales that get told by the parents.  How you ran away after your husband murdered your children, went crazy, and began kidnapping local kids, using their bones to dig out the caves in the desert."  Giles' eyes narrowed.  "You're not telling me that that's all true, are you?"

"Not all of it," she said softly.  "But every good lie is based in truth.  At one point, I _did_ have a partner that humans might have considered a husband, and I _did_ have kids, two of them, a boy and a girl.  And, indirectly, he was the one responsible for their deaths."  The deep breath she took did little to calm her racing nerves.  "I left him when I decided it was over, and took our kids with me, but that didn't sit too well with him, and he kept showing up.  I kept running, and the whole thing turned into this vicious cycle until finally I decided to play hardball."

He waited for her to continue, watching the tension in her jaw, the lines of her throat as she kept swallowing, almost as if the words were struggling to climb their way out of her voicebox.  The tremor in her hands was more pronounced, fingers vibrating against the arm of her chair as she struggled to maintain control, and Giles realized just how terrified the white demon really was.  He wanted to help her, the desire to take her in his arms---to tell her that none of it mattered---suffocating, yet knew he wouldn't…couldn't…not until she'd told him all.

"It wasn't pretty.  Anger very rarely is.  And when it was done, I realized too late that I'd pushed him too far.  So he struck back in the way he knew would hurt me the most…by kidnapping our children and selling them to your Council of Watchers."

Those were the words that finally drove him to his feet, his disbelief emanating from his limbs with every stiff flex of his muscles.  "We…they…don't traffic in the purchase of children," he sputtered.  "Not even if they're demon children."

"They do," she insisted, gazing up at him sadly.  "Well, they did.  This was a hundred and fifty years ago, Rupert.  Times were very different then, and the fact of the matter is…the Council _needed_ my children, or rather, they needed Vroleks.  My children were convenient."

"But why?" Giles demanded.  "What on earth could be so important that they would---?"

"The Soul Eaters were free, killing indiscriminately along the countryside of England, and your Council had just learned of a way to stop them."

"You said they can't be killed."

"They can't.  It's kind of hard to kill something that doesn't have a body."

"Are they ghosts?"

She shook her head.  "No, they're non-corporeal."

"What's the difference?"

"Ghosts are creatures that were once alive.  The Soul Eaters _are_ alive, just…without form."  

His eyes were burning behind his glasses, and Giles slipped them off, rubbing at his closed lids as if by doing so it would magically restore his clear vision, make everything before him go away.  "You understand this is…quite a bit to digest," he commented.

"That's why I told you to read the book," she tried to joke, knowing even as she did so that it fell on deaf ears.

"You mentioned something earlier about binding," he prompted, his spectacles dangling from his hand.

Cortina nodded.  "The Council learned of a ritual that they believed would permanently place the Soul Eaters into a sort of holding pattern, of which apparently, Vroleks were a key ingredient."

"But magic doesn't work on your species."

"Don't ask me how they did it, because I don't know.  I don't know any of the particulars.  I only learned about all this after the fact."  Her voice hardened.  "The only thing I can tell you definitively is that whatever they did, it killed my children.  Their ritual _did_ work, but at a price, and the day I found out, I vowed to take my revenge.  Hence, my Destroyer phase."  Cortina's thin fingers wrapped around the arm of her chair, knuckles white, mirroring the stone in her words.  "I started with my beloved husband.  Tortured him…and when he screamed for mercy, I hurt him some more.  I believe he finally died from blood loss.  Then…I killed his family, and everyone he had ever held dear.  And when I got bored with that, I turned to those who'd actually conducted the ritual."

"The Council…"

"I'd slaughtered half of their Watchers before they ever knew what hit them.  Even tossed in a couple Slayers in training for good measure.  I burned their libraries, sold their secrets, did everything I could to hurt them even a fraction of what they'd done to me.  I even faked making a deal with them, just to get on the inside to do a little more damage."

"Why have I never heard _any_ of this?" Giles asked.  "Your species isn't even supposed to exist.  Why would---?"

"Because they were embarrassed," she interrupted, and looked up at him.  "I was a single female demon, and I managed to bring their organization to their knees.  All.  By.  Myself.  At least, that's what they believed.  I actually had some help for parts of it."  Her laugh was a rasp that grated over his skin.  "There are a lot of demons out there who are more than willing to get involved in hurting your bosses.  I took advantage of that, and ended up getting all the credit.

"The Destroyer part of my life lasted for twelve years.  Twelve, very long, years.  When I decided enough was enough…that creating more deaths wasn't going to bring them back or make me feel any better…I stopped.  And I ran.  And I hid on the Hellmouth for a hundred and thirty-seven years.  And now the Soul Eaters are back, and so's the Council, and everything is falling to pieces again."

"I still don't understand why you want to run again, though.  You say it's not because of your history, so I assume you weren't running because you were afraid to tell me."  He almost looked hopeful as he stated the last, eyes darting to meet hers before dancing away.  

"I _was_ afraid to tell you.  Even when Travers threatened to use you against me in order to get me to cooperate---."

"He…what?"

"The man does his homework.  He was prepared to sacrifice you in order to get me to agree to their plans, because he knew that I wouldn't be able to allow that to happen.  Then, when he said the Soul Eaters were after Buffy and Spike, that was pretty much the clincher.  As long as I remained in their custody, I would've done everything I could to make sure the three of you remained safe."

"And then we rescued you…"  He knew what was coming next, and mentally kicked himself for not having figured it out long before she had to spell it so clearly.

"And I got another chance.  Contrary to what you may believe or what Buffy might think, I am far from noble.  I do what I have to do to save my own skin.  When the Council started actively hunting me, I ran and hid.  Whatever this binding ritual is, it's lethal.  It killed my children, and I see no reason why it won't do the same thing to me."  Very slowly, she rose from her chair and stood before Giles, gazing up at him while refusing to allow their bodies to touch.  "I don't want to die.  I'm not ready to.  That's why I was running.  Well, that's why I was preparing to run.  I'm not really going anyplace now, am I?"

"You're…not?"

"How can I?  It was different…before, when I thought …before you said…"  Cortina smiled in spite of the tears in her eyes.  "I can't believe this is actually harder than telling you about killing the Council."

Now was the time to touch her, to slough the trouble from her flesh like a dead skin.  Giles could feel her need for him hovering there between them, spectral hunger that sang of pain, and though his own need was just as great, he hesitated, locking his arms at his side to stave off his own instincts, turning his head to avoid having to look into those pale blue orbs.

The demon sighed.  "I'm going to rest in my room," she said softly as she side-stepped away from him, walking slowly toward the door.  "I'll make arrangements to return to the Council's little hideaway in the morning so that they can do…whatever it is they have to do to save Buffy and Spike."  As her fingers slid around the knob, she glanced over her shoulder, seeing his bare back still facing her.  "If it'll make you feel better, you can sleep outside my door to ensure that I don't run away, but it won't be necessary.  You have my word on that." 

The room echoed of silence after she had left, and Giles felt the tension wrap tighter around his chest, his head a tumult as everything she had just said whipped around.  So much information…so little time…and he had no idea where to start in processing it…

To be continued in Chapter 13: The Locks of the Approaching Storm…


	13. The Locks of the Approaching Storm

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Cortina has shared her story with Giles, telling him how the Council's ritual to bind the Soul Eaters killed her children and spurred her to wreak havoc among them, eventually leading to her exile when she decided to stop.  She has promised not to run, but instead to return herself to the Council's hands so that they can repeat the ritual in order to save Buffy…

*************

Her small hand soothed a gentle tattoo between his shoulder blades, head tilted so that she could keep an eye on Spike's contorted face, his cheeks flushed as the spasms that had wracked his child's form receded.  "You gonna be OK?" Buffy asked, and tried not to look at the pile of sick that now adorned the too-green grass behind the bush.  "You want me to go find some water or something for you?"

"No, I'll be right as rain soon enough."  Wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, he straightened, glaring at the motionless merry-go-round behind them.  "Y'know, there's a bloody good reason those bastards got banned in England."

"You should've said something.  I wouldn't have pushed so fast."  Her grin was wide.  "Although it _was kinda funny to see you jump off so quick."_

"Next time we go dream-hoppin', I wanna have a say in what goes on.  No more kid trips, and no more death traps."

His mood did nothing to faze her smile.  "You're the one who wanted to play," Buffy reminded him as he began to stride away, back towards the rest of the park.  She hurried to keep up with him.  "I feel better.  Doesn't that count for anything?"

Spike stopped, and turned to look at her.  "Counts for everything, luv," he said, pushing a strand of hair away from her cheek with a small smile.  "Sorry for bein' such a git."

"And I'm sorry I made you sick."  Leaning forward, she kissed him lightly on the cheek.  "But I'm not kissing you for real until you rinse out your mouth, or we wake up, whichever comes first."

He glanced around at the thinning crowd, watched as children began drifting to the benches to take parents in hand and leave the playground.  "What're we s'posed to do now?" he queried.

"Go home, I guess," she shrugged.  Her blond head swiveled, body following after, and she frowned, hazel eyes settling on the vacant seat.  "Where'd Mom go?"

Even the pushchair was gone.  As the two children slowly paced off the distance, the crowds around them seemed to dissolve, until by the time they were standing before the empty bench, Buffy and Spike were the only two left in the park.  Without thinking, her hand slipped into his, and she inched closer to his side.  

"Knew it was too good to be true," he muttered.

"What?"  Her voice was barely above a whisper.  Any louder seemed sacrilege in the now-derelict air.

It was a tickle around his ankles, barely there and yet unequivocal.  The chill that crept up his jeans stiffened his grip, his head jerking to stare at the clouds that were drifting over the sun, and Spike felt the human heart he was beginning to hate pound within his ribcage.  "Run."

The ground sucked the sound of their running footsteps as they raced back toward the merry-go-round and away from the encroaching storm, leaving them in a vacuum that constricted around their thin bodies.  Buffy could feel the panic creeping across her skin, and lowered her head, barreling forward as she fought to suppress it.  She hadn't sensed anything until they'd started moving; now, there was no mistaking the wind that was whipping her hair across her cheeks, or battling against her chest, trying to drive her back.  Though she desperately wanted to look over, to confirm that Spike was still at her side, she didn't, keeping her gaze focused on their destination, the haven that would shelter the pair from whatever it was that was after them.  How did they know the merry-go-round would be safe? she wondered.  It was one of those dream things; they just…knew.

Buffy reached it first, swinging her legs over the silver bar to straddle the center of the ride.  Her knuckles were white as she watched Spike stumble, breaking his fall with the heels of his hands, before tripping the last few feet to latch onto the circular dais, his glasses slipping from his nose to fall silently to the dirt track that surrounded them.  As he blinked, squinting into the dimming evening light, the air around them whipped into a gale, tearing at their fingers, driving particles of sand into their skin and shredding it into tiny scarlet ribbons.

"Don't let go, luv," he hissed into her ear as he wrapped himself around her, placing his hands over hers as they hung on.

"Last thing on my mind," she replied, and squeezed her eyes shut as they waited it out.

"Buffy…"

The Slayer's lids flew open and she found herself staring at her mother, the wind suddenly dead around her, the swaddled form of a baby cradled in Joyce's arms.  The older woman was smiling, but there was no joy there, and behind her, she felt Spike stiffen.

"Whatever you do," he whispered, "don't let her get to you.  It's not your mum.  Remember that."

She knew the truth behind his words---a dream, it's just a dream, she silently intoned---but seeing her, having her so close, _alive…Buffy felt her heart leap into her throat as Joyce slowly shook her head._

"Now, William," the older Summers woman said sadly.  "Don't make me get your mother."

There was no mistaking the tension in his arms as she felt him bury his face in her neck, averting his eyes from the vision in front of them.  "Not her, not her," he murmured into her flesh, and Buffy found strength in the light of his determination.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"Just to talk," Joyce replied.  "I miss our talks.  Don't you?"

"You're not real."

"Oh, Buffy."  Her head tilted, gazing at the girl as she shifted the weight of the bundle in her arms.  "I wish just once you'd stop being the Slayer for a second, and try being my daughter.  Your father would be so disappointed if he could see you right now."

"She's playin' you…"  She felt his words more than heard them, but the assurance he meant to convey didn't work, and Buffy's heart began to quicken.

"I was thinking some nice hot chocolate is just what we need.  What do you say?  It's always so…satisfying, don't you think?"  The young girl saw the glittering come to Joyce's eyes, hardening them to stone, and involuntarily began to inch forward, the siren promise beckoning to her even as her eyes remained fixed on the pair waiting outside of the safety of the merry-go-round.  She knew with every inexorable slide that it was wrong, something wasn't right, but her body refused to cooperate, edging itself closer to the brink to join her infant sister in Joyce's embrace.

Although he lacked his vampire strength, Spike's grip was still a vise around Buffy's upper arm, stopping her just as her sneakered foot approached the empty space surrounding the ride.  "It's one of them," he hissed.  "And if you get off here, she's goin' to hurt you more than you ever thought possible."  She looked back at him, his blue eyes black.  "Trust me on this."

The scream that tore from Joyce's throat as Buffy eased herself back into position between Spike's legs shattered the stillness of the air, whipping it back into the frenzy that had attacked them as they ran.  As the two children watched, her fingers stretched into talons, digging into the blanket that wrapped the baby, quickly slicing ribbons of scarlet into the white.  

"Dawn…" Buffy whispered, and held her breath as the blood began to drip from the baby, soaking into the parched earth in lassitude.

Wrapping his arms tighter around her, Spike said softly, "Now would be a good time to wake up, luv…"

*************

Her lids bolted open, and despite the reassuring presence of Spike's chest beneath her cheek, there was no denying the panic that was flooding through the Slayer's body as she fought to control the trembling that convulsed her limbs.  She sat up, using the rock of his abdomen as a brace, and swallowed.  Most of the images were already fleeing, skittering away from her consciousness like feral cats running from encroaching humanity, but the message remained.  Dawn was in danger.

"Spike!"  Buffy's hand shook at his shoulder, mentally cursing that he could sleep so heavily.  "Spike, wake up!"

As the vampire began to stir, she jumped from the bed, reaching for the clothes that had been so carelessly tossed to the floor earlier.  A quick glance at her watch told her what she needed to know, that they still had a couple hours until sunrise.  Good, she thought.  Just enough time to get it done.  

He blinked, slow to release the blanket of sleep.  "Next time, try to hold off on sleep until I'm out of it, pet," Spike drawled.  "I like my dreams better."

"Get dressed," she ordered, tossing him his jeans.  

"Don't tell me you're in the mood for another midnight stroll."

"Nope."  She pulled her top over her head.  "A drive."

His mouth opened, and froze as he realized what she wanted.  "It was just a dream, Buffy," he finally said.  "Dawn's safe with the witches."

"And she'll be safer with me.  Now come on.  I need you to drive."

"Rupe's not goin' to like us nickin' his car," Spike grumbled as he rolled from the bed.

"He's not going to know.  We do this right, we're there and back before the sun comes up."  Buffy grinned.  "Besides, we just got Cortina back.  You really think Giles is thinking about anything other than her right now?"

*************

The words were starting to blur before her, and the demon set down the pen to rub tiredly at her eyes.  Though sleep was what she needed, so far, it had been elusive, slipping through Cortina's fingers like water, finally frustrating her enough to drive her to her writing desk.  If she was going to do this---no, not if, she _was_ going to do it---there were matters to be taken care of, arrangements to be made.  And time was not on her side for a change.

As her hands fell from her eyes, her gaze slid to the pile of clothes folded up neatly at her side, the smell of his cologne wafting to her nostrils as she hesitantly extended a finger to trace the tiny stitches of a seam.  At least it was over.  Painful as it had been, Cortina didn't have to worry anymore about what Giles was going to think if he discovered the truth, or how he would react once he had that information in hand.  She already knew.  Not that she blamed him.  It was a lot to absorb, and considering she had spent a good number of years destroying much of what he deemed precious, there really was no reason to expect that he would've responded any differently…not, and still be the same man she knew and admired.

A quiet rap at the door behind her did nothing to break her attention from the scent of his shirt.  "Come in," she called softly.  It must be close to dawn, she thought.  She had left explicit instructions she wasn't to be disturbed until it was time for her to go; it was a shame that time had already passed so quickly.

"I'm not…interrupting you, am I?"

She refused to allow the sound of his voice affect her, and sat up, withdrawing her hand to turn and look at Giles standing in the doorway.  "Of course not," she replied, chin high.

"I thought you'd be sleeping."

"It's hard to sleep when your brain refuses to stop working."  She watched as he buried his hands deeper into his pockets.  "Did you need something?" she prompted after a moment of silence.

Giles ignored her question and stepped further into the room, glancing over her shoulder at the paper in front of her.  "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Just…taking care of some business," she said, turning back to look down at her work.  "Leaving instructions for what should happen in my absence."  The smile she gave him was fleeting.  "You're going to have quite an impressive library when all this is over," she quipped.

His frown was immediate, his tone amazed.  "You're writing a will?"

"Well, when you say it like that, it sounds quite fatalistic, doesn't it?"  Cortina picked her pen back up and faced the paper again.  "I just want to make sure that my books don't end up as kindling.  I know you'll take care of them."

Giles snatched the pen from her grasp, stepping away to prevent her from taking it back again.  "This is just a little too melodramatic, even for you," he said harshly.  "I did not come in here to watch you give up."

"It's not giving up," she argued.  "The Council's ritual proved deadly the first time they did it.  There's no reason for me to think it won't be deadly again, and if I don't do this…"  She stopped, a tiny line appearing between her brows.  "Why _did you come in here?"_

For the first time, he averted his gaze.  "I was…cold."

"Oh."  Her disappointment edged her voice as she pushed the pile of clothes across the desktop and toward him.  "There are extra blankets in the cupboard if that's not enough."

"And…I wanted to talk."  As he took a deep breath, Giles returned to the desk, perching himself on its corner to look down at her.  "I don't like being lied to," he started.

Cortina bristled.  "I haven't---."

"Let me finish," he interrupted, holding up his hand to cut off her words.  "I can understand withholding certain…facts when circumstances dictate its necessity, but bald-faced lies make me angry.  And right now, I am furious.  But not with you."  Slowly, he took off his glasses and set them aside.  "Though I can't say that I condone what you did, I do understand it.  Pain, grief especially, has this remarkable tendency to push us in directions we may never have envisioned, and sometimes that means people get hurt."

"Why does that sound like you're not talking about me…?" Cortina murmured, pale eyes fixed on the determination in the Englishman's face.

"We all have pasts.  We've all done things we're not particularly proud of.  The important thing is to move on from it.  Like you did."

"I didn't move.  I ran."

"You made a conscious choice to stop," Giles countered.  "And contrary to what you may think, you are not the same person you were a hundred years ago.  The Cortina I know is generous of spirit, romantic to a fault, and outside of Buffy, the most persistently stubborn woman I've ever encountered.  All of that may be as a result of what happened with…your children, and the Council, but it doesn't matter.  What matters to me is who you are now, because _that_ is who I care about."

She pretended to pout.  "I can see I've been demoted."  At his slight frown, she clarified, "Earlier, you said you loved me."

He couldn't help but smile at the restrained twinkle in her eyes.  "This will go much faster if you just let me talk," he chastised mildly.  "Now, I will admit, I haven't always been able to…ignore personal history in dealing with people---."

"Like Spike."

His smile faded, but he nodded his head.  "Yes," he agreed.  "Like Spike.  Like…others.  But I'm learning.  And the fact of the matter is, I can hardly judge you by standards that are different than how I'd judge myself."

"I hope you don't think I've ever---."

"No, I know you haven't.  You're probably one of the few people with whom I've ever even felt comfortable discussing my…Ripper days.  Which is how I know you'll believe me when I say that I can understand how Cortina the Destroyer can become the same Cortina who would even consider doing this ritual to save the Vampire Slayer.  She _is part of you, but she isn't all of you."  Very slowly, Giles leaned forward to take her hand, pulling her to her feet so that she leaned against him, encouraging her to press her weight into his, brushing his lips across her forehead.  "I'm sorry I couldn't say all this to you in the library.  I needed---."_

"---to process it all," she finished, shaking her head.  "It's OK.  I understand, though I will admit, I certainly wasn't expecting this.  Hoping for, yes.  Expecting it, no."  The relief that loosened her limbs shone in her eyes as she gazed up at him.  "But you said you were angry.  If it's not me…"

His jaw tightened.  "Sometimes, I'm quite ashamed to be associated with the Council," he said grimly.  "And don't think for a second that I'm going to let you deliver yourself to them like some sacrificial lamb.  I plan on having a few words with Quentin Travers myself.  I think it's about time I got some straight answers for a change."

"That doesn't help Buffy, Rupert.  The Soul Eaters aren't going to stop until they're satisfied."

"There has to be another way."

"Not that I particularly like agreeing with them, but don't you think Travers would've tried finding it before he came to Sunnydale?"

"Not necessarily."  Giles pressed his lips together as his hand lifted to pinch the bridge of his nose, his eyelids flickering shut.  He had a killer of a headache, but things must be said, issues had to be considered.  There would be time enough later to try and get rid of the pain.  "You don't know the man the way I do, Cortina.  He's brilliant, he's devious, and he's determined.  If he knows a path, he takes it.  And as far as he's concerned, the path that led to you was most likely a godsend in his eyes.  Their ritual worked before.  He probably sees no reason why it wouldn't work again."

"And I'm just a demon to him," she said softly.  "Inconsequential."

"Only to him," Giles replied, re-opening his eyes to stare into hers.  "Only to him."

When she felt the tears---of relief, this time---prick her eyes, Cortina quickly lowered her head, unwilling to let him see them yet again.  Her gaze fell on the clothes that rested behind him.  "You said you were cold," she murmured.  "You should probably get dressed."

"I was hoping I might be able to get some more sleep before morning," he said, and straightened, taking her hand in his as he stepped away from the desk and toward the bed.  

"You don't have to do this."  She didn't want to say it, but neither did she want this to be about pity.

Giles stopped, looking back at her drawn face.  "Would you rather I slept somewhere else?" he asked gently.  "Because frankly, I don't want to be anywhere else but here right now."

Cortina smiled.  "No," she said.  "Here is good."

*************

The crisp night air cut into their lungs as they waited.  At the rear, a muffled cough traveled up the length of the group and Travers turned to look at the offender, brow furrowed in disapproval, choking off the sound with merely a glance.  This was not the time for noise, not the time for distraction, and if the men thought he would stand by and allow even the slightest disruption ruin the task ahead of them, they had another thing coming.

"Are there any further questions?" he asked, his voice barely audible in the darkness.  Although he waited in anticipation, all present knew that to speak now would be inviting disaster and inevitably severe punishment.  Their instructions were clear and succinct; not understanding them now was tantamount to idiocy.

"Good."  Travers nodded.  He turned to look back at the cave's opening, a black mouth that gaped in the exposure of the desert.  "Then, it's time…"

To be continued in Chapter 14: Commotion…


	14. Commotion

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy is worried about Dawn's safety and is enlisting Spike to go and get her, while Giles and Cortina have come to an understanding regarding her confession.  Meanwhile, outside the caves, Travers and his crew are about to embark on some plan…

*************

They had been prepared to fight ever since her return.  Though intruders often wandered onto her lands, threatening her privacy, no real menace had endangered the white demon in decades, and those she enlisted to guard her well-being were anxious to repay Cortina for the years of sanctuary she had provided.  This was their duty.  This was their honor.  And this was their pleasure.

The humans thought their presence was a surprise.  This worked to the guards' advantage, hastening them to positions of defense that would enable them the greatest spread.  With so many entrances to the caves, it was impossible to cover them all, but this new threat was sloppy, predicating their proximity with noise that may have escaped the attention of lesser beings but was a patent signal for those whose life work was to protect, and protect they would.

The first was dispatched in silence, a swift strike through the chest with a rapier that emerged from the shadows, crumpling in a black heap to the dirt floor.  A cursory examination of the human's lifeless form confirmed what they had been warned about, that the attack when it came would be by those well-armed and prepared to battle for as long as necessary.  Stripping him of his weapons, they were even more prepared for the second.

And the onslaught began…

*************

His hand traced the delicate hollow of her spine, fingers trailing up over the white tendrils that slid over her shoulders before skating back down to linger at the curved juncture between her back and buttock, then repeating the dance in a soothing rhythm that slowed Cortina's breathing to an even in and out that fanned across his bare chest.  All thought of cold was banished, the heat of her bare flesh against his eradicating it from memory, leaving behind only the sorrow that wrapped them both in its tight embrace.

"I'd really rather you didn't go," Giles said softly.  "You're protected here."

"I can be an asset," she argued.  "If you've got me, they can't do any magic.  And it's not like I can't defend myself.  I think I've pretty much established I know how to fight when I need to."

"You've only just recently been injured. Your hands have hardly healed enough to warrant fighting."

"Not all weapons require hands."

He hesitated, momentarily intrigued by the possibilities she was suggesting, but finally said, "Regardless, the Council will be playing for keeps, especially once they realize we're after Quentin.  It's not wise."

"I worry about you and Buffy trying to take them all on your own, though."  Cortina lifted her head, gazing up at him, her eyes still slightly red-rimmed from her earlier crying.  "Won't they be expecting you?"

"We were able to get you with little problem," he countered.  

"And I still think it was too easy.  They didn't even place a guard on my room after they made me the offer, like…they were done with me."

"Perhaps they assumed we wouldn't find you so quickly," Giles said, but inwardly doubted his own assessment.  It _had_ been too easy, and he feared to consider why.

"Well, I only hope I'm wrong.  I hate it when I turn out to be right about these kind of things." 

"I'll have to…tell Buffy and Spike about the Soul Eaters."  His tone was low, his pace measured, and he averted his gaze to stare up at the ceiling.  

"I know.  It's OK."

He knew that would be what she'd say; he only hoped she wouldn't be surprised by what his response to that would be.  "I see no reason for them to know of the…repercussions of the Council's first attempt at the ritual.  As far as I'm concerned, those are private issues that have nothing to do with our current situation."

Her chin rested on his chest, and for a moment that she refused to allow to linger, Cortina felt a swell of emotion bubble into her throat, the love she'd dared not admit to herself before now threatening to tumble from her lips as she contemplated her words.  It had been a long time since she'd let anyone get to her the way Rupert Giles did---too long, he would probably argue---and she only regretted that they would not have more time to enjoy it.  "Thank you," she said simply, and saw the relief relax his mouth.  "I appreciate that, even though I'll probably end up telling them myself anyway."  She smiled when he looked down at her.  "What's a little mayhem between friends?"

The sharp knock shattered her brief moment of levity, and Cortina groaned as she rolled away.  "I can't believe I forgot to tell them not to come get me," she grumbled, reaching for her robe as she strode for the door.

Giles watched the grace of her shoulders as she slid the silk over her skin, leaving the front to hang slightly open with a guileless disregard for any shame.  It wasn't going to be simple, and the risks were great, but there was no way he could allow this woman to slip out of his life, to hell with her past.

It took only a moment of rapid-fire speech from the demon at the door for Cortina's eyes to widen, then narrow as her lips thinned, her jaw tensed.  As she barked back a response Giles didn't understand, she glanced over at the Watcher on the bed, the cold fire that burned in her eyes pulling him to a half-sitting position.

"What is it?" he asked as she closed the door.

"At least we know now why they let me go so easily," she replied, dropping the robe from her shoulders as she marched over to the wardrobe.

He swung his long legs over the side of the bed, watching as she pulled out one of the few pairs of trousers she owned before reaching for a long sword that hung at the back of it.  "Why?"  The dread deadened his voice, though he was fairly certain what was coming next.

"It looks like Travers has decided to move the party to my house."  When she smiled at him, Giles saw a glimpse of the danger that had threatened so many a century previous, and felt a stab of fear skewer the pride within his gut.  "Do you want to help me let him know what we think of people who show up without an invitation?"

Offering him the hilt of the sheathed blade, Cortina waited as he stood and crossed the room, hand folding over hers as he took the sword.  "I guess this settles our disagreement, then," he commented as she released her grip.

The demon smiled.  "Yes, and this way we both win."  At his confusion, she clarified, "I get the protection of my men, but I still get to help.  Win win.  I like those odds."

Giles' frown relaxed.  "So do I," he murmured.  "So do I."

*************

They were halfway to the car when they heard the noise behind them, echoes of metal mingling with cries that were both demon and human.  Their turns were simultaneous, each looking back to stare at the empty corridor that led into the bowels of the cave, the luminescence of the walls casting pale shadows across the planes of their worried faces.

"That doesn't sound good," Spike commented.

"No," Buffy agreed, and frowned as the weight of her options began to bear down on her shoulders.  

"We're already here," he said softly.  "You know I love Dawn as much as you do, but as far as we know, she's sound asleep and perfectly safe with the witches.  We stay, we can help whoever's in danger back inside…"

"Giles…" she murmured.  Turning on her heel, she began heading back toward the din, her pace gradually increasing.

"Actually, I was thinkin' of Cort," Spike said, running to catch up to her side.  He smiled at the annoyed look she shot him.  "But, saving Giles is good, too…"

*************

As she rounded the corner, Cortina spied the fracas in the widening corridors, the scattered bodies of both men and demons dotting the dirt floor, with even more of them still standing, facing off in battles that were most often one-on-one.  If it weren't for the presence of Rupert at her side, she would've ended the thing right then and there with a war cry, but to do so in the manner that would finish the intruders would prove deadly to her lover as well.  And that was something she couldn't allow to happen.  

Upon more careful consideration, Giles had returned the sword to her wardrobe, opting instead to arm himself with a crossbow and dagger.  "I may not like them," he'd said, "but they are still men.  I'd like to let as many of them live as possible."  Personally, though she understood his rationale, Cortina suspected that the weapons he'd chosen were just as lethal, especially in his trained hands, but if it made him feel better about fighting those he'd held in such alliance for so many years, so be it.  The sword she'd kept for herself, ignoring the ache in her hands and wrists, determined not to let the Council win on this one small point.

They were separated almost immediately, drawn into separate battles as they fought the men who suddenly showed up in front of them.  The thrill of adrenalin coursed through her system, and the white demon felt the familiar tang of power as she ran her blade through her attacker's stomach, a salty elixir that threatened to intoxicate as she moved on to the next, slicing into his flesh as easily as melting butter.  Unlike Giles, she had no qualms in killing the intruders.  This was her domain and they were trespassing; she would do anything she had to do to protect hers and her own.  Even if it meant Rupert's contempt when they were done.

*************

When she saw the first black-clad figure, Buffy's heart sank.  The Council.  Shit.  Her mind flashed back to the man in the desert, and everything became clear.  Cortina's escape had been so simple because they wanted her free, out so that they could follow her and discover where she lived, where they were hiding.  And Buffy had walked right into their plans.  Like an idiot.

_Stop being so hard on yourself_, Spike thought as he came up behind her and saw the melee before them.  _You couldn't have known._

_It's my job to know._

_No, it's your job to be the bloody hero in this mess, so stop feelin' sorry for yourself and get out there and kick some Council ass._

_And what about you?_  Buffy looked back at him, saw the concentration narrowing his eyes.  _Are you just going to stand back here and bake me some cookies for when I win?_

The shrill scream of a demon, followed almost instantly by a dull thud which sent a shower of dirt crumbling from the ceiling, pulled her attention back, and the Slayer squared her shoulders, bracing herself to leap into the conflict.  _Back to our original plan, she directed to Spike.  _Go get Dawn and take her to somewhere safe.  Once this is over, I'll find you and bring Giles and Cortina to wherever you are.__

_Right_, she heard in her head and felt him ease away, slipping back into the corridor with as much as silence as he could muster, allowing her to keep the element of surprise just a little bit longer.  _Be careful, luv._

Buffy smiled, eyes glittering as she considered where she was going to enter the battle.  _Always._

*************

At one point, he caught a glimpse of Buffy, her hair flying as she landed a hard kick to the man's chest in front of her.  When she tackled the intruder, they rolled out of his line of vision, and Giles returned to concentrating on the fight before him.  His own knuckles were bloodied, his crossbow long since discarded since cracking the trigger when he'd used it to bludgeon a particularly hefty assailant, and the fine cut on his brow from the edge of some dagger was dripping erratically into his eye, forcing him to wipe at his face every so often to clear his sight.  Still, a small part of him had to admit that the fight was quite a rush; it had been a while since he'd been so heavily caught within the fray.

He knew from the number of bodies littered around him that Cortina and her men were taking no prisoners, leaving the Council's troops dead or dying as they fought to protect the caves.  Casualties of war, Giles rationalized, who knew the potential price they may have to pay when they signed up.  As far as he was concerned, as long as at least one of them remained alive for them to question afterward, he would be happy.

His heel slipped on a pool of blood, and the Watcher went down in a heap, landing with a force that sent knives of pain into the small of his back.  Above him, he saw the black-clad figure hesitate, eyes narrowing as his chest heaved, then pull a stiletto from a sheath at his side.  The blade flashed in the dim light of the cave, and just as Giles was tensing to roll aside, he saw the rapier erupt through the man's abdomen, showering the Englishman in blood before crumpling to the ground.

A gloved hand grasped his own, hauling him to his feet, and Giles found himself staring into the horned face of one of Cortina's men.  Violet eyes met blue, the tacit understanding passing between them instantly, and the demon gave him a curt nod before turning to riposte an oncoming assault.  Sides were drawn, and for once, it felt good to be on the demons'.

*************

He could feel the fight as he ran towards the entrance that would lead him to the car, flashes of black across his eye, the occasional scent of blood filling his nostrils, even an odd jolt through his leg as one of Buffy's powerful kicks met the body of one of the intruders.  As much as he hated not being able to participate, the Slayer was right.  Against the Council, Spike was more of a liability than an asset, his inability to fight the humans without the chip firing muzzling him more efficiently than if he'd been hogtied.  Stupid bloody technology, he grumbled, whipping himself around the corner.  Part of him almost wanted to say to hell with it and go fight anyway, but the fear that Buffy would end up sharing his headaches held him back.  He could handle his own pain; he knew he'd never be able to stomach being the cause of hers.

The entrance to the cave loomed in front of him, and Spike quickened his step, aware that time was slipping by and he still hadn't sussed out a plausible safehouse for him to stash Dawn when he got her.  For that matter, he wasn't so sure he shouldn't grab the witches, either.  Though their magic wouldn't do them any good with Cort around, the Council was well aware of their connection to the Slayer and may consider them a bargaining chip in whatever plan they had in mind.  Probably would be a good idea to take them along for the ride as well.

So intent on getting outside, he never saw the shadows leap from the recesses of the wall, dragging him to the ground.  Surprise dissolved into anger, but before Spike could lash out in defense, he felt the tiny pinprick in the back of his neck, and the world melted around him into black.

*************

As she felt the man's nose crunch under the impact of her fist, Buffy tasted the bloodlust in her throat like bile, and had to physically restrain herself from leaping forward and smashing the Council member against the wall, to slam his head against the stone and feel it shatter beneath her power.  Instead, she just watched as he fell to the earth, the blood coursing freely from his ruined face, one eye already swollen shut.  The scent was heady, and she swallowed as she stepped back, noticing for the first time since joining the clash that the caves were now silent.

Her head swiveled and she saw Giles bent over, hands on his knees while he seemed to be regaining his breath, while in the far corner, Cortina was wiping the blood from her sword using a torn strip from her scarlet-stained shirt.  Though there were many of her guards still around, the only Council members that remained were lying on the floor, and Buffy frowned as she stepped over the bodies to her Watcher's side.

"Where'd they all go?" she asked, scanning the various exits as he straightened.  "Don't tell me we won already."

"I'm sorry you're disappointed," Giles said, barely able to keep the wheeze from his voice.  "Personally, I'm rather grateful they've retreated."

"Something's not right here," Cortina argued as she joined the pair.  "The Council I know wouldn't give in so quickly."

"And it's not like we were really winning," Buffy said.  At her Watcher's raised eyebrow, she hastened to add, "Yet.  Winning, yet.  Because we would've.  Just not…yet."

"Bloody women are never satisfied," Giles muttered, dabbing at the blood that ran down his face.  

"What did they want?  Any ideas?"  Buffy looked quizzically between the two, only to be met by twin shakes of their heads.  

"At least once, they had a chance to grab me, but nobody took it," Cortina said.  "They just wanted to fight."

"At least I know what that man I saw outside earlier wanted," the young blonde commented, turning to look at the damage around her.

"What man?"

She glanced back at her Watcher.  "I went for a walk and ran into a guy prowling around in the desert.  He took off when Spike---."  She broke off, suddenly aware of the silence in her head, the slow chill freezing her muscles as her thoughts reached out…searching…anything…no…

He wasn't there…

To be continued in Chapter 15: Scatter…


	15. Scatter

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  The Council has attacked Cortina's caves and kidnapped Spike…

*************

"But that doesn't make sense," she argued, her pitch higher than normal as it strained with anxiety.  "Why would these things be after Spike?  He doesn't have a soul."

Giles and Cortina exchanged a quick look before the demon returned her pale gaze to Buffy's confused face.  "I don't think that's entirely true anymore," she said gently.

"We believe this might be one of the residual effects from the cleansing," Giles interjected.  "You've said yourself, there is a…connection between you two that wasn't there before.  It is possible that you might be sharing your soul, or in becoming human for that brief time, perhaps Spike inadvertently reacquired his own."  He settled into the chair next to the Slayer, his eyes now level with hers.  "Right now, the how is not important."  Her brows lifted in surprise.  "Yes, I realize the irony of that, but please, try to focus."

"Quentin Travers was very clear, Buffy," Cortina said.  "The Council is convinced they're after both you _and_ Spike, and to be honest, I'd be inclined to believe that they're telling the truth.  When it comes to the Soul Eaters, the Watchers seem to know what they're talking about.  And that means you're both in danger."

"Well, I am, at least," Buffy said bitterly, and rose from her chair to resume pacing around the small library.  When she'd first realized she couldn't feel her lover's presence any longer, the first thing she'd done was race through the tunnels to check to see if Giles' car was still there, hoping against hope that maybe he'd just had an accident as opposed to the more logical conclusion that the entire fight with the Council had been a diversionary tactic just to grab him.  She hadn't even made it outside.  It hadn't been necessary.  There, in the dirt just inside the exit, lay Spike's lighter, half-hidden in the loose grit, the unmistakable outlines of footprints surrounding it almost like sentinels.  

"I just don't get why they'd snatch him," Buffy mused.  "I'm the one they're supposed to be all concerned with protecting, not a chipped vampire they've never shown any interest in before."

"On that one, I can't help you."  Cortina rested her hand on Giles' forearm.  "I'm going to tell her about the other."

The Slayer stopped in her tracks, her arms folded across her chest as she stared at the pair seated at the desk.  "Other?" she demanded.  "There's more?  How can there be more?"

"The reason the Council took me in the first place."  The Vrolek sighed.  "They know how to stop the Soul Eaters---."

"Oh, my god.  They don't need to kill Spike, do they?"

"No.  They need to kill me."

Giles looked at Cortina over the rim of his glasses.  "We don't know that," he argued.  "It's entirely possible---."

"It doesn't matter," Buffy interrupted.  "I'm not going to let them kill anybody.  Now that I know who the enemy is, I'll just take care of them myself.  Can't be any harder than trying to find a way to get rid of Glory, and she's a god."

"You can't battle with the Soul Eaters," her Watcher said.  "They're non-corporeal."

"What does that mean?  They're ghosts?"

Cortina rose from her seat.  "Oh, I am _not_ having this conversation again," she commented, and began heading for the door.

Giles straightened.  "Where are you going?"

"I assume Buffy wants us to go get Spike."  The white demon looked over at the Slayer for confirmation and was answered with an emphatic nod.  "I'm going to see if I can scrounge up some help for you.  It's almost daylight.  I'm not going to be of any use."

"I am not going to let this turn into a war between demons and Watchers."  He stood, facing off with the Vrolek.  "We have more than enough resources to handle this on our own."

The sudden tension between the two acidified the air, and Buffy found herself glancing between the two, watching the silent battle of wills in confusion.  There was more going on here than they were letting on, but unless they decided to share the details, it was going to continue being silent, because she didn't have the time to be dragging it out of them.

Cortina's shoulders relaxed, and her smile was small.  "If that's what you want," she said.  "I was only trying to help."

"There are other ways," Giles murmured, relaxing as well.  "Just as I know there must be another way to stop the Soul Eaters."

This time the demon laughed.  "Ever the optimist," she said, shaking her head.

"So, we'll arm up, go get Will and Tara, drop off Dawn at Xander's, then go get Spike back."  Buffy ticked the list off on her fingers as she spoke.  "And when we get back here, we'll figure out how to kick ghost butts without having to kill any of our friends."  When Giles opened his mouth to speak, she waved him silent.  "Yeah, yeah, not ghosts, I know.  But it rolls off the tongue much easier than non-corporeal so I'm sticking with it."

*************

Though the pen was poised within his grip, its nib just millimeters from the paper, Quentin hesitated, contemplating yet again the ramifications of his signature on the document.  Killing them would serve absolutely no purpose other than to rid the Council of an unnecessary burden, and though it wasn't possible for them to serve any current function, he found himself reluctant to order their deaths.  It wasn't their faults the Soul Eaters were now free; if anything, they deserved life in payment for their contributions, even if they had been involuntary.

Quentin sighed, and set the pen back down onto his desk, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.  "Are the preparations complete?" he asked quietly, not bothering to turn and look at the young man who stood in the doorway.

"Yes, sir," came the response.  "The vampire is securely stowed, and the staff has been disbanded.  We're just awaiting clearance.  And for yourself to board, of course."

"Thank you."  He waved his hand in dismissal, eyes still gazing at the paper.  No.  Not yet.  It wasn't needed.  He would consider it again once the Soul Eaters' issue was dealt with.

Not everyone was vacating the Hellmouth.  With the targets soon to be divided, his team could concentrate on retrieving the Vrolek again, and the time he was praying he was buying would allow the Slayer to remain safe, to slip the reins of this new threat so that she could continue her calling.  It was a tremendous gamble he was taking, but Buffy Summers was worth it.  The current situation with Glorificus demanded the presence of such a strong fighter, and it was his job to ensure that she stayed here, even if it meant a few sacrifices along the way.

*************

She watched them pull away from the curb, the car lurching slightly as she knew Giles struggled with the gear shift, and Dawn's lips thinned as she pressed them together.  Getting left behind.  Again.  Welcome to her life.

Buffy had said that the Council had kidnapped Spike and they were going to rescue him, but had she even stopped to ask if Dawn wanted to come along and help?  Oh, no, because that would just be too considerate.  Forget that Spike was her friend too.  Forget that she was in just as much pain, or that she could contribute to the gang just as much as any of the others.  Forget that she even existed because that just made the Slayer's life easier.  No sister, no problem.

"How 'bout pancakes for breakfast?" Xander asked from behind her.

Dawn settled back onto the couch, turning away from the window, still imagining she could hear the car as it drove away.  "No thanks," she said.  "I'm not hungry."

"They're blueberry," offered Anya.  "Or if you're not in the mood for pancakes, we've got some of those frozen waffles you just pop into the toaster.  Or cereal.  I'm pretty sure we have some Fruity Pebbles in the cupboard."

Xander smiled apologetically.  "Actually, Ahn, we are currently Pebble-less."

"I just bought those two days ago!"

"And I had a midnight craving for some Flintstone goodness."

"What's the point of me going grocery shopping if all the food just disappears around here?"  She flounced off into the kitchen.

"I thought that _was_ the point of groceries," he said, following after her.

Dawn watched as the pair continued their lighthearted bickering in the adjoining room, oblivious to her presence on the sofa.  If it wasn't one extreme, it was the other.  Willow and Tara had hovered, wanting her to talk about Mom's death, trying to coax her into letting out what she was feeling.  Xander and Anya were coping with the news of Joyce's death differently, resorting to the banter and nit-picky issues in their own lives to keep them focused and their minds off the morbid reality of someone so close to them being murdered.  Both couples didn't get it when it came to the teenager.  For that matter, neither did Buffy.

Her hand curled around the comfortable weight of her bag at her side, the thick outline of the book inside it a tangible solace for her to hold onto.  Contrary to what they might all think, she wasn't powerless, or non-helpful, or an albatross to be borne in not-so-silent complaint.  No, Dawn was more than willing to take that extra step, do what had to be done.  She just wasn't usually given the chance.  It must be the Summers gene, she thought.  'Cause Buffy was all about the do-what-has-to-be-done thing.

"Hey, Anya," she said, rising from her seat and crossing the room.  "If Buffy's not back before you go into work, can I come into the Magic Box with you?"

The ex-demon exchanged a look with her boyfriend, who shrugged.  "Sure, that should be OK," Xander said.  "If that happens, we'll just leave a note for Buff, let her know where you're at."

"Thanks."  In spite of her earlier protestations, Dawn's stomach grumbled audibly as Anya poured the first of the pancake batter onto the griddle.  She blushed when they looked in her direction.  "Maybe I'll have some of those after all," she said.  "Best way to start the day and everything."

*************

The soft purr of the engine was doing nothing to ease Buffy's heightening anxiety, her nerves skittish as her foot tapped noiselessly on the floor of the car.  In the back seat, Willow and Tara were preparing a few spells they thought might help, huddled over their book, but every once in a while, she would catch their eyes in the side mirror, looking up into the front seat, their concern etched in fine lines around their mouths.  They had been told enough of the situation to know how dislocated the Slayer was feeling, even if they didn't completely understand it.  She just wished they would all just stop feeling so sorry for her.  

"Giles…"

He glanced over, saw her staring at her hands, and his frown deepened.  She'd said barely half a dozen words since leaving Cortina's caves but her fears were running rampant across her face, in spite of her silence.  There was more to her separation from Spike than she was telling; he only hoped she was finally ready to talk about it.

"Yes?" he prompted, after nearly a minute of nothing.

"Which do you think it is, Spike has his own soul, or Spike has part of my soul?"  She turned her head away from him, hazel eyes fixed on the road outside, but he could hear the worry shading her words, and felt his own unease jump in his stomach.

"I really don't know," Giles admitted.  "As far as I understand it, what happened between you is entirely unprecedented.  Everything.  This link you two have while you're awake---."

"It's not just while we're awake."

He almost didn't hear her.  "What are you saying, Buffy?"

The two witches in the back seat pricked up their ears to hear her reply.  "I'm saying, that when Spike and I are both sleeping, it's all he-said-she-said in whosever dream gets started first."  She looked over at her Watcher.  "That's how come he knew about my Slayer dream.  He was there.  He saw it all."

Giles sighed.  "When were you going to tell me this?"

"I'm telling you now.  Don't I get points for that?"

"This isn't a game, Buffy.  I'm not keeping score."  The silence filled the car as he slowly turned the wheel, directing them down the street that housed the Council.  As he pulled up to the curb, he glanced at his charge, blue eyes full of worry.  "When we get him out of there, I want to sit down with both of you and discuss everything that's been going on.  Perhaps, together, we can find answers that just might alleviate some of your fears."

She smiled.  "Thanks, Giles.  I was afraid…I know Spike's never been one of your favorite people.  I didn't want to make things worse for you."

The corner of his mouth lifted.  "Worse than seeing my Slayer with another vampire?" he joked.  "Somehow I don't think that's possible."

She still had no answers, and though she dreaded actually finding them out, currently Buffy had a job to do, and it was time to focus her attention.  Twisting in her seat, she looked back at Willow and Tara.  "Ready?" she asked.  When they nodded, her hand gripped the door handle.  "Then let's go."

*************

The quiet echoed around her, and Buffy felt her heart stop as she pushed open the last door, almost hoping that the entire Council would be waiting on the other side, armed and ready for her.  At least then she would know that they hadn't made this trip in vain.  When the dim emptiness greeted her, though, the fear that she had momentarily closeted away returned with a vengeance, gnawing at her insides with diamond teeth, and the dagger in her hand went flying, embedding itself into the far wall, as if grateful to be escaping her anger.

She wanted to scream, and to cry, and to shout, and to sob, but none of it would come, her body immobile in its impotence.  Of course they wouldn't have brought him back here.  That would've been too easy.  Travers knew she could find their little hideaway and stashed Spike someplace else, and if Buffy had even given it one little extra thought, she would've known that instead of jumping on the bandwagon to return to the original scene of the crime.  She had assumed that they would move too fast for the Council to pick up house, and now she was paying for that arrogance, the precious time she had lost now as gone as the vampire.

She didn't even turn when she heard the footsteps behind her, her hazel gaze fixed on the hilt of her blade as it still reverberated from her force in the opposite wall.  "Don't say it," she said.  "I already know."

"Elvis can find him," Willow said.  "We've just got to get back---."

"I've got something else I can try, too," Buffy said, her words clipped.

"Don't worry, we'll find him," soothed Tara.

That turned her around, to face the trio with ice.  "I know," she said calmly.  "This is far from over."

*************

He saw the warning light go on from the pilot and knew that they were about to take off, his hands automatically going to his seatbelt to double-check that it was buckled.  Although he knew it was going to be a long flight, he could take a small pleasure in the fact that he wouldn't have to spend the entire time in the hold, having already made arrangements to trade shifts with Rick at the door.  Not that it was a hard assignment.  Just that it creeped him out having to babysit with stiffs.

His gaze stole to the inert form strapped down to the gurney.  Vampires were better when they were moving around; at least then, he knew how to fight them.  Seeing them motionless like this set off a whole number of warnings in his head, almost like it was too good to be true and that any second they would pounce, and he'd be dead, or worse, a vamp himself.  This one was supposed to have some sort of technology in his head that prevented him from hurting humans, but frankly, he'd believe that one when he saw it.  Of course, the bleached demon also had enough drugs in him to keep him knocked out for the duration of the flight, but he wasn't taking any chances.  His crossbow was ready and waiting at his side.

No, the male body wasn't the one that bothered him so much, maybe because he knew that it was a vampire and something he could deal with, should the need arise.  The one that really bugged him was the woman, and he began to wish he'd asked that she stay covered up.  She was stretched out on a second gurney next to the man, her skin ashen, blonde hair falling in limp waves.  Logically, he knew he had nothing to fear from her, but that didn't stop the feelings from bubbling under his skin.  It was just something about dead bodies…

To be continued in Chapter 16: From an Enchanter Fleeing…


	16. From an Enchanter Fleeing

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy has learned that the Council has disappeared with Spike, and has gone back to Cortina's to try and find him…

*************

"Buffy, this is ridiculous.  For all we know, the reason you can't sense Spike is because he's dead---."

"He's _not_ dead!"  Her eyes shone in hazel fury, and her nostrils flared as she fought to control her breathing.  "Did you see any vamp dust in the cave?  No.  Because he's not dead.  I just can't sense him because…"  Her mind raced for a logical explanation.  "They've probably got him knocked out somehow, and I just didn't realize what was going on because I was up to my neck in Council guys.  So…_not dead, got it?"  Maybe if she repeated it often enough, she could convince herself of its truth._

Her Watcher's face was an exercise of concern, the lines softened as his blue eyes gazed down at her.  "Got it," he murmured in acquiescence, and silently applauded his Slayer's profundity of belief in her vampire lover's ongoing existence.  This was why she was such a strong fighter; she refused to give in, even when all signs pointed to the contrary.

"So, are you going to help me with this, or not?" she asked, and deliberately lowered her voice, trying to take back some of the anger she had lashed out at him, knowing that he was the last person to be deserving of her rage.  The person she really wanted to get her hands on was Travers, to wring from his jowly neck just what in hell he thought he was doing by interfering with her life like this.  And if she snapped it in the process, all the better.

"Of course."  He watched as she laid back on the bed she'd only just recently shared with the vampire.  "You do realize that if your theory is correct and he is knocked out, he's not going to have any idea where he is.  Reaching him via your unconscious will accomplish nothing."

"I can tell him what's going on," Buffy said.  "With the Soul Eaters, and what we're trying to do to get him back.  That's accomplishing something."  There was more but she didn't vocalize it to the older man who now sat at her side.  She needed to apologize for not being there, to let him know how much she loved him and how she wasn't going to let this get in the way of anything.  And since dreams were her only option at the moment, she would just have to tolerate whatever escapades she found herself wandering into to do it.

"Close your eyes," Giles instructed, watching as his Slayer let her lids flicker shut, her hands folded across her stomach.  "Listen to my voice.  Concentrate on your breathing…"

*************

She blinked, feeling the chill air against her skin, and rubbed her hands over her arms, hoping the increase in circulation would warm her.  Her surroundings were instantly recognizable, but as she scanned the familiar landscape of the desert surrounding Cortina's caves, Buffy began to wonder if perhaps something had gone wrong.  This didn't seem like the normal stuff of Spike's dreams.  Maybe it hadn't worked.

She began to walk, footsteps swallowed by the night music, hazel eyes continually scanning the horizon for any sign of the blond vampire.  "Spike?" she called out, knowing that if he was here, he would answer.  If he could.

"Buffy?"

Her heart leapt at the husky cadence and she began to run toward the sound of his voice.  Here, he was here, her soul sang, and skirted the curve of the hill to see him sitting on a blanket on the ground, torso twisted as he watched her race toward him, face spreading into a smile as she practically tackled him, the memory of their last dream tussle as children echoing through their adult bodies.

"Spike…I'm so sorry…god, please don't hate me…"  She was sobbing into his neck, her tears flowing freely now, an amalgam of relief and sorrow washing over her cheeks.  She felt his hands come up and begin stroking her hair, those shushing noises he made in the back of his throat soothing her jumping nerves, and allowed her body to relax into his, lying against his chest, pressing him down into the cold earth.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and rolled onto his side so that he could look at her directly.  "What's got you in such a lather?"

Buffy's face wrinkled in confusion.  "What do you mean?" she countered.  "The Council grabbed you.  That's a huge pile of wrong right there."

"I know that, luv.  Well, at least I figured it was probably the Watchers who did it.  Didn't really get a good look at their faces before whatever they shoved into my system knocked me out."

"I _told_ Giles that had to be what happened," she said triumphantly.  

"Still doesn't explain what you're all worried about," he replied.  "Or why in hell you'd think I could ever hate you."

Buffy bit her lip.  "Because we can't find you," she admitted.  "As soon as we realized what they'd done, we went back to where we got Cortina, but they'd already cleared out."

"Oh."  The back of his hand brushed her cheek, pushing back the hair that had spilled there.  "That's not your fault, pet."

"I shouldn't have made you go after Dawn in the first place.  If you'd just stayed with us---."

"---it would've happened anyway."  He shook his head at her look of surprise.  "It was an ambush.  They were prepared for me from the get go.  There was no way I was walkin' out of those caves on my own two feet.  We both should've sussed it out after they had a go at my crypt."  He rolled onto his back and stared up at the stars.  "Wish I knew what it was all about, though.  Not like I'm a novelty anymore.  They had their chance to ask all sorts of questions back when they were doin' that checkin' up on you."

"Now, on that point, I actually have information."  Propping herself up on her elbow so that she could look down at his face as she spoke, Buffy told Spike about the Soul Eaters and the Council's intentions for Cortina as she understood them, watching as he absorbed the tale with a pensive frown.  "So, it doesn't have anything to do with the cleansing after all," she finished.  "Even if we don't know exactly why they want you."

He was silent, and she could see the thoughts playing themselves out in the dark depths of his eyes, his inability to keep his emotions from lighting his face allowing her to glimpse into his head even without the benefit of their usual connection.  "Makes sense," he finally said, but there was no anger in his voice, no retribution in his tone.

Buffy tilted her head.  "Why don't you seem surprised by any of this?" she asked curiously.  "These demons feed on _souls, and the Council thinks they want you, too.  Is there something you're not telling me here?"  When he glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, she could see the hesitation, the unspoken question on just how much he was prepared to share, and bristled.  "No secrets, Spike.  You have to tell me this.  Do you have a soul now?"_

"I don't know."  His gaze returned to the heavens, his mood contemplative.  "It would explain a lot, that's for certain."

"A lot of what?"

"Stuff that's been goin' on inside my head.  Stuff that I couldn't make head nor tail of."

"And you weren't going to tell me?"  She couldn't keep the hurt out of her voice.

"Didn't want to be a moanin' Minnie," he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smile that spoke of greater fears than appearances.  "I thought it would go away."

"You know I can tell when you're lying, even without being ESP girl, don't you?"

Spike sighed.  "I didn't want you to have to piddle about with frettin' on my head when you've your own worries to get through."

"Not that I'm the relationship expert here," Buffy said, "but it seems to me that if you want this to work, you have to let me in.  You have to trust that I want to help you shoulder some of that pain, or confusion, or whatever the feeling of the week is."  When he cocked his eyebrow, she smiled sheepishly.  "OK, practice what I preach, I know.  But can we worry about that after I get done saving your ass this time?"

"I believe last time it was me saving your ass," he said playfully.

"I definitely think there is too much mutual ass-saving in this relationship," she mused, and began tracing delicate patterns on his chest.  "I like it better when we're saving other people.  Less worrisome."

"You're bound and determined to make a white hat out of me yet, aren't you, Slayer?"  He was joking, and desperately hoping she wouldn't go back to the other topic.  

"You seem to be doing a good enough job of that on your own," she replied, and let her smile fade.  "But you're not getting out of answering me that easy."

There was going to be no escaping facing the truth, and he steeled himself for confronting the images yet again.  "I've been having…dreams."

Buffy frowned.  "I know.  I've been there, remember?"

He shook his head, closing his eyes as the pictures began to flood back.  "Not for these you haven't.  These happen…after."  The heat of the imagined fire on his cheek caused him to wince and Spike briefly wondered if it was possible to dream within a dream.  Wouldn't that be just dandy.

"Are they like…the playground dream?"  Though the dread that she'd been feeling had vanished within the proximity of his presence, it returned now with a sickening lurch that tilted the world around her in kaleidoscope shades of pain, forcing her to swallow, to fight the nausea that threatened to burn into her throat.  

"They're…similar."  His confession hurt, and the vampire found himself wishing for the first time in…well, probably ever…that he and Buffy were two normal people, leading ordinary, normal lives, who didn't have to worry about the supernatural, where their most pressing fear was whether they were going to make the mortgage payment in time, or counting days because she was late and they weren't ready to be parents yet.  It came out of nowhere, and just as quickly as the desire had expressed itself, it was gone, leaving the vampire wondering yet again if this was another manifestation of this growing sense of _humanity_ that had been pervading his being over the past ten days.  How could he go about explaining such randomness to Buffy?  How could she understand if he didn't get it?  Worse, what would she think?  

"Stop thinking so much and just talk to me," she coaxed, breaking him from his reverie.  "Similar how?"

"It's like how I knew Joyce wasn't Joyce," he said slowly.  "If what Cort says is true, it wouldn't surprise me to find out it wasn't one of those Soul Eaters."

"Getting into our heads?"  This forced Buffy to a sitting position, the alarm in her widened eyes shining in the moonlight.  "How?  Why?  How?"

Spike let his eyes open to gaze up at her.  "I don't know.  Just…feels like the truth.  Kind of like your Slayer dream, remember?  That thing said it was 'all.'  Maybe it can dig around in our skulls 'til it finds what it needs to drive us truly and completely barmy.  To…hurt us so that we're distracted by the pain."

His jaw twitched, his internal struggle a mask that was cracking from the strain, and Buffy felt her own fears get squashed by the anguish that was shattering him before her eyes.  Carefully, she laid herself back down, pressing herself into his side, laying her head on his shoulder as her arm stole out across his chest, pulling him into her heat in an embrace that sang of solace.  "I can think of better ways of being distracted," she said, ready for him to back away from talking, to stop the torrent of memories that she was ripping from his lips.  Anything to stop the pain.  She didn't need to know.  Not like this.  Not if this was the price.

He was grateful for the reprieve, expelling the invisible demons in a very audible exhalation, and tightened his arm around her back.  "Shouldn't you be waking up so that you can come find me?" he teased, slipping back into their familiar banter like a pair of his favorite shoes.  

"There's no rush," Buffy replied.  "Not in the not-finding you way.  In the me waking up way.  Willow's already got Elvis on the scent."

"What about one of her locator spells?"

"We already tried that.  It didn't work."

"So we can just lie here for a bit?"

"If that's what you want."

Spike's lips brushed against her temple.  "That's what I want."

*************

She hated feeling useless.  Rupert was adamant about not enlisting demon aid in locating Spike, and as much as she hated it, Cortina was going along with his wishes, not willing to lose what ground they had gained in light of her recent confession.  Willow and Tara were off giving instructions to the Hellhound, Buffy was off trying to reach the vampire through his dreams, and that left the Vrolek wandering around the caves in search of a purpose.  Any purpose.  Just something to distract herself from the sense of inadequacy that she hated so much.

She saw the young girl before she was seen herself, sitting at the edge of the grotto, absorbed in the book in her lap.  The Slayer's sister.  Still grieving for her mother.  Perhaps this was the diversion Cortina needed to keep her mind occupied.  

As she stepped silently closer, the demon's eyes narrowed as she recognized the text Dawn was reading, and realized just why the teenager had disappeared upon arriving.  "It won't work," she said softly.  "At least not while you're around me."

Cortina's sudden appearance startled her, and she slammed the book shut, shoving it to the side farthest away from the Vrolek.  "What won't work?" Dawn asked innocently.

She smiled.  This one was too cute.  "We haven't exactly met," she said, settling herself down a few feet away.

"You're Cortina.  You're Giles' new girlfriend."  She stuck out her hand.  "I'm Dawn."

"You know, you're the first person to call me that."  Her smile widened.  "I think I like it."

"He's been really happy this week, well, before everything happened.  I'm glad he's got you now."

Cortina deliberately looked down at the book before returning her gaze to Dawn.  "Since you know who I am, does that mean you also know that magic doesn't work around here?  Well, around me, I mean."

"What makes you think---?"

She cut her off with a wave of her hand.  "Don't waste your energy trying to cover it up.  We don't have time for that now."  She leaned forward and extracted the book wedged at Dawn's side, rolling it over to look at the spine.  "I've got two copies of this back in the library.  It's actually quite a harmless little text, except for the whole raising the dead section in the back."  Her pale eyes bore into the teenager's, who ducked her head, pushing her hair back over her ear in a nervous fidget.  "You weren't really considering it, were you?"

When Dawn lifted her eyes back up, they were brimming with tears.  "Why not?" she said softly.  "What's it going to hurt?  She didn't do anything wrong, and if Buffy's right and those…things killed her…what difference is it going to make?  I just want her back.  I know Buffy does, too.  She wouldn't argue with me about this."

"Because it wouldn't be her you got back," Cortina replied.  "I know it's hard to look at this rationally right now, but just hear me out.  If in fact it was these children of the wind who killed your mother, and you did this resurrection spell, what you would get is a shell that _looked_ like your mother.  Her soul is gone.  You can't excise it from whatever took it.  You can't get it back."  She stopped as she saw the tears slip down the girl's cheek, and suddenly felt like a monster for saying anything in the first place.  

"You don't understand," Dawn muttered.  "You're just a demon.  You don't care about family or losing someone."

All of a sudden, she wasn't so cute anymore, and Cortina felt her own grief return to the foreground, and began to wish she hadn't stopped to talk to the girl.  "I know you don't really mean that," she said slowly, choosing her words with care so that her own emotions wouldn't overwhelm her in front of the teenager.

"How can you, though?" Dawn's voice began to rise, a shrill knife cutting through the grotto.  "It's not like you've lost anything to these soul demons."

"Yes, I have."  Standing, she slid next to the young girl, placing her arm around her shoulders.  "I know _exactly what you're going through."_

The single touch was the only release Dawn needed, and she began to sob, collapsing against the white demon's shoulder in a paroxysm of pain.  "I just want to _do something," she said through her tears, her voice muffled.  "I just want to help.  I want the pain to go away."_

"I know," Cortina soothed, and her gaze came to rest on the book she'd left sitting on the other seat.  "But that's not the answer…"

But something else might be…and the possibility began to roll itself over in her brain, the permutations working, twisting, molding to their circumstances, alleviating the grief as she focused on the other.  It was a risk, and there was no guarantee that it would work, but it might prove a starting point…and it could very well save some lives…

To be continued in Chapter 17: O'er the Dreaming Earth…


	17. O'er the Dreaming Earth

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  The Council has kidnapped Spike, knocking him out at the same time, and Buffy has joined him in his dream to let him know what's going on…

*************

It was the calmest dream they had ever experienced together.  Usually, there was lots of running involved, either chasing or being chased, or fighting of one sort or another, and with the exception of her Slayer dream about the Soul Eaters---because she wasn't sure windy ghosts counted as another person---this was the first time they had ever been completely alone.  "Why'd you pick here?" Buffy murmured, watching as the slight desert breeze picked up some loose brush and sent it tumbling in a twisted dance across the sand.  "And you do realize it's actually daytime out in the non-sleeping world, don't you?"

She could almost feel him shrug.  "Dunno," Spike said.  "It's not like I usually get a say in the matter.  Guess something in me decided it was time for a mini-holiday."  His fingers entwined themselves in the loose curls of her hair.  "Not complaining, though.  Needed time to sort my head out, and this is as good a place as any."

"What's there to sort?"  Rolling herself over on top of him, Buffy straddled his hips as she sat up, looking down at the shadowed sapphire eyes as they stared up at the night sky.  "Those other dreams?"

"Yeah, and now this whole soul business."  Spike's hands grasped the curve of her hips and tugged her forward, sliding her just enough so that the outline of his growing erection nestled in the schism between her thighs.  "Not that I've ever given it any serious thought or anything, but if all this is true, it's sure as hell not how I would've imagined it.  I mean, where's the guilt?  How come I'm not goin' all poncy like Angel did?  I got more depressed about my existence after those government guys shoved this bleedin' chip up my brain."

Buffy frowned as she contemplated the implications of his questions.  "I don't think it's the same thing," she finally said.  "Angel's soul was a curse designed to make him feel bad about who he was and what he'd done.  Yours…might not even be yours.  And if it's not, then you're not even playing with a full soul deck.  You've got half, and I've got half, and maybe my half is the one that handles guiltage."

"Who says it's all even steven?" Spike joked.  "Maybe my soul is bigger than your soul."

She ground herself lightly into his now-hardened cock, and smiled.  "You may be onto something there," she teased.  "Definitely feels pretty big to me."

He could smell her in the crisp night air, a mixture of soap, sweat, and the delicious musk from between her legs, and his fingers tightened.  "You know what I just realized," he said.  "Neither one of us has had a sex dream since that cleansing ritual."

Buffy laughed.  "Probably because we've had so much, you know, _actual sex.  Kinda puts a crimp into the whole needing-it-while-you're-asleep thing."  _

"But the thing is…doesn't feel like we're sleepin'."  With a quick buck of his hips, Spike rocked the Slayer just enough off-balance to cause her to bend at the waist, toppling against his chest.  "Feel like conducting a little experiment?" he asked, his voice dark in caramel tones.

"Willow's the scientific one," she breathed.  "I used to duck out of chemistry every chance I got."  Her mouth lowered, small teeth nibbling at the flesh along his jaw, and she felt his hands steal around to her back, pulling her closer against the stone of his pelvis, her own legs stretching out across the top of his.

"Lemme guess.  You were more of a phys ed kind of girl."

She was on her back before she could blink, pinned beneath him as his mouth descended to lick along the side of her neck, following the vein that pulsed there to the junction of her jaw.  As tiny goosebumps erupted along her arms, shivers began undulating from the pit of her stomach, radiating downward through the wetness of her pussy, across the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.  "Experiment…a success," Buffy whispered, air suddenly a precious commodity, and felt his chuckle reverberate against her flesh.

"Who says it's over?" he taunted.  "You said there was no rush for you to go back."

"There's not."

"And seein' as how I'm the one in immediate danger here, I think you'd be wantin' to make sure you keep me as happy as possible while I've still got time to enjoy it."  He'd meant it as a joke, but felt her stiffen, muscles suddenly rigid.  Carefully, Spike pulled away enough to gaze into the darkened depths of her eyes.  "What?" he asked.

"Nothing's going to happen to you," she said firmly.  "I'm not going to let it."

The corner of his mouth lifted.  "I know that," he said.  "I was just kidding."

"No, you weren't."

"Yes, I was."  His smile vanished.  "I don't want to fuss with this, pet.  You don't believe me, just take a gander in the ol' noggin next time I wake up.  You'll know I'm not lying here.  I don't do that with you.  Not anymore."

"You didn't tell me about your dreams."

"That's different.  That was just not telling.  Totally different from lying."

"Like you didn't tell me when Giles came to warn you about the Council in the first place."

"For fuck's sake," Spike muttered, and rolled off, rising to his feet to stand facing the desert.  "I am _not_ having this bloody fight again."  He began patting his pockets, wondering if he had any cigarettes, and, almost as if in direct response with his unspoken wish, they appeared in his hand, his lighter a sudden lump against his thigh.

"How do you expect me to help you if you don't give me all the information I need to do it effectively?" Buffy demanded, sitting up and watching as the orange flame danced in the air.  

"Never asked for your soddin' help," he growled.  "I'm not some pathetic wanker incapable of doin' for himself."

"Which is why you're now drugged to the gills and just waiting for whatever Travers has in mind for you."  She shook her head.  "Just let me do my job, Spike.  All that requires is that you be completely upfront with me.  About everything."

He exhaled loudly, the smoke a clean fog in front of him.  "For one thing, I'm not your _job, Slayer."  His anger was rising, his eyes flashing gold, the sudden use of her title a sure indication of his fury.  In a twisted way, he was enjoying the rush of arguing with her.  Certainly didn't feel like some namby-pamby human now.  "I'll put up with you calling me a lot of things, but not that."_

"I didn't mean---."

"Will you just bloody well let.  Me.  Finish."

The chill of his voice froze Buffy's veins, and, deliberately, she closed her mouth, pressing her lips together.  There was no denying the rage that edged his words, and she realized that she hadn't seen him this mad since before the ritual.  That couldn't be of the good.

"You and me," he continued, "we're partners.  In more ways than the physical one.  Which, to me, means equal, whether you realize it or not."  Each word was chiseled, aimed directly at her throat, and he found himself crushing the cigarette between his fingers as he spoke.  "Now, I know you're hurting, and I know you're scared, and fuck knows I'm not exactly singin' in the rain either, but that doesn't make me your latest goddamn apocalypse.  What it means, is we work together to sort this mess out.  _To-geth-er."_

She jumped at his slight pause, desperate to get the words out before he could go on.  "Spike, I know that.  Which is why I think you need to let me know when stuff like the Council thing goes on.  I scratch your back, you scratch mine."

"It's not a matter of scratching, luv."  He tossed his cigarette into the brush and turned to face her full on.  "It's a matter of you trusting my methods sometimes, even if you don't like them.  I got by for over a century before you ever came along.  Think I did that just on my pretty looks?"  When Buffy's head jerked sideways, her hazel gaze narrowing to scan the surrounding desert, he quickly glanced to see what could've captured her attention, his own frustration at not being able to finish seething under his skin.  "What is it?" he bit at her.

"You don't hear it?"

"Would I've asked 'what is it' if I'd the faintest clue what was all of a sudden so fascinatin' to you?"  The vampire's irritation was mounting, and he stomped closer to her, hoping that the proximity might be all he needed to figure out what could possibly have the nerve to interrupt him when he was on a roll.

"It sounds like…"

And, just as if she had never been there, Buffy was gone.

*************

"Buffy…"

Though the hand was gentle on her shoulder, it jolted her back to consciousness with a heavy thump, and the Slayer opened her eyes to gaze up into Willow's worried face.  "What's going on?" she murmured, blinking against the dim light of the room as she sat up.  "Is Elvis back?"

Biting her lip, the redhead nodded.  "But it's not good news."

It was no longer just her and Giles in the room.  Besides Willow, Buffy could see the white outline of Cortina in the doorway, with Dawn's huddled form under her arm.  She frowned when she saw her sister's tear-stained face, but quickly returned her gaze to the pair beside the bed.  Probably just still crying about Mom, the Slayer thought.  Gotta remember to thank Cort for playing surrogate later on.

"Wasn't he able to track Spike's scent?"  Please, oh please, she thought desperately.  Tell me he was at least able to follow the trail.  Give me something to work with here.

"Oh, tracking it was just hunky-dory.  It was where he tracked it to that makes the news not so hunky, more of the dory."

Buffy watched as Willow and Giles looked at each other, one of his hands tucked under the opposite arm as he rubbed tiredly at his forehead, and the feeling of dread returned, the pit that had taken residence in her stomach widening into the Grand Canyon.  "What?" she demanded.  "Just spit it out.  I am _soooo not in the mood for games right now."_

"The Hound followed Spike and the men who took him to the Cavanagh airstrip," Giles said quietly.  "The trail ended there."

"They've…got him on a plane?"  No! she wanted to scream.  They were supposed to leave him here so that I can find him and kick their asses for taking him in the first place.  Planes meant far away places, like Greece, or England… "You don't think---?" she started.

"We're going to find out," Willow interrupted.  "I can get into their logs and find out where they're headed, but that means going back to Sunnydale and getting my laptop.  Which is why we woke you up."  The redhead's frown deepened.  "Did you…talk to Spike?"

"Talk, fight, same dif," Buffy muttered and skittered across the top of the blanket to jump to her feet at the end of the bed.  "He doesn't know anything.  They shoved some needle full of stuff into his neck and he's been out of it since they snagged him."  She grabbed her boots from the floor and began slipping them on.  "Let's roll.  We can talk strategy in the car."

She was halfway to the door when Willow's hand wrapped around her elbow.  "What happened?" the young witch said quietly.  "Is everything OK?"

"Spike happened."  The Slayer's voice was clipped, her jaw tense, but under the hard veneer, a small glitter of pain reflected in her eyes.  "He's been holding back."

"Holding back…how?" Giles queried.

She shook her head.  "He's been having these dreams.  When I told him about the Soul Eaters, he didn't even pretend to be surprised."

"I thought you…shared your dreams."

"Apparently not all of them."  Turning on her heel, she crossed the distance to the door and slipped her arm around Dawn, oblivious to Cortina as she stepped away to allow the two sisters room.  "You up for going back to Sunnydale?" Buffy asked softly.  "I'd rather you were somewhere I can keep an eye on you."

Dawn shrugged.  "Sure," she mumbled, and allowed herself to be guided from the room.

*************

The smoke burned in his lungs, sizzling in silent apathy, and Spike kicked at the loose grit beneath his boot, exhaling a vehement stream that dissipated almost as soon as it hit the chill air.  Buffy's disappearance was hardly a mystery.  Someone---Giles, most likely---had woken her up, hopefully with good news.  That thought did nothing to lessen the irritation that crawled over his skin, though.  Good news, bad news, what the hell difference did it make until he and Buffy sorted out this issue of what being partners really meant?

Somewhere in that beautiful, stubborn, intoxicating, superior head of hers, Spike suspected she still believed herself to be his so-called savior, rescuing him from one catastrophe after another, conveniently forgetting about the numerous times he'd risked his own neck to ensure her safety.  Or, if not forgetting, diminishing their importance in comparison to her fucking calling.  Pig-headed bint.  Too used to bein' the one in charge.  Forgetting there were other players in this little soul game.  And he wasn't just goin' to sit back and cool his heels while she went and played lifeguard with his sorry ass.  Just need a plan, that was all.  Something concrete…

"I thought she would never leave."

The sound of her voice was an ice dagger between his shoulder blades.  "Bloody hell," Spike muttered, and flicked the cigarette away, watching as the red tip glowed too bright in the sparse brush.  Not goin' to look, he intoned silently.  Not goin' to look.  But just as in every other time she had appeared to him, there was no resisting the pull, his head slowing swiveling to see her standing at the curve of the hill.

It was perhaps the first time he had never seen her in a dress, but the sight of his almost mirrored reflection only served to remind him that this wasn't her; it was one of those fucking Soul Eaters deciding to play his mind by looking like her.  He stood his ground as she approached, her slender legs looking even thinner in the black jeans, her own black duster draped over her petite form.  Even her hair was different, no longer soft and curling, but pulled back sharply from the high cheekbones, the legacy he knew he carried even if he hadn't seen them for himself in a hundred years.

"Not in the mood for your little games," he growled, and held his ground.  Not goin' to let her see how she gets to me, he vowed.  "I know who you are now."

"Oh, William."  She sighed, stopping in front of him, one hand reaching up to push back hair that wasn't out of place.  "This isn't a game.  I thought you understood that by now."

He so desperately wanted to correct her---_it's Spike, damn it!---but knew it was pointless, her use of his human name an affectation designed to drive the diamond tip of her taunts deeper into his flesh.  "Doesn't matter," he said.  "Buffy's on to you.  You're not goin' to get her.  Not if I have anything to say about it."_

Though he had gazed into the dead cerulean depths time and time again in these little dream jaunts, Spike was still unprepared for the sheer hunger that suddenly gleamed there, her lips curling back with rapacious gluttony as her tongue ran over the tip of her teeth.  It was the mimicry of his own mien that rattled him, forcing him to step back, away from her cold touch and even colder words.

"Well, isn't that gallant," she murmured.  "Foolish and impossible, but nonetheless…gallant."  She followed him forward, matching his every move away with another that would equalize the distance.  "You can't save her.  You won't even be here.  You're the one we desire the strongest.  The dark one is just…an incredibly delectable dessert."

The ravages of his recent argument with Buffy now seemed inconsequential, his desire to protect her consuming his rational thought, steeling his resolve as he planted his boots into the sand, refusing to allow her---_it,_ he reminded himself, _not her---to drive him further away.  "You won't get her," he repeated.  "She'll beat you.  _We'll_ beat you."  Spike laughed, and heard it shatter the air around them.  "She knows what you're doin'.  I told her---."_

He didn't see her move.  One moment, she was a black outline against the even blacker sky.  The next, she was pressed up against him, one hand around his back holding him indelibly in place, the other wedged between them, its palm pressed to his chest.  "You.  Did.  Not," she hissed, and Spike felt the fingers from his childhood lengthen, nails honing into claws that pierced his shirt, slicing through his skin, burying themselves in the muscle of his chest.

He couldn't scream, the pain too exquisite in its crystalline force, and gritted his teeth to bear against it.  "Did," he rasped, and then uttered the one word he'd wished all long to have the nerve to say to her face.  "Bitch."

Her laughter was unexpected.  "Oh, I do adore your spirit," she said lightly.  "It's going to be delightful when you're one with us," and with that, her grip tightened, Spike's blood dripping in maddening rivulets from the heel of her hand onto the ground below.

This time, he could not suppress his screams…

To be continued in Chapter 18: Waken…


	18. Waken

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy has learned that the Council has left with Spike on a plane, and is off to Sunnydale to try and figure out where…

*************

It was beginning to feel wrong again.  A quick glance into the skies showed the clouds beginning to roil in coal-streaked waves as they clumped and bunched across the heavens, while the leaves in the trees that lined the street were already starting to dance in the quickening breeze.  As her eyes darted from the building to the road before them, Buffy's foot tapped nervously against the floor of the car, her face tense, hands balled into fists in her lap.

"What the hell is taking so long?" she muttered, shooting yet another frustrated glance at the door her friends had only moments before passed through.

"Giles is probably going over weapons and warnings and such," Dawn said from the back seat.  "I'll bet he's just trying to make sure Cortina's safe while we're gone."

"If he's so worried, he should make her come with us," Buffy grumbled.  "We don't have time for this."  She didn't really mean it---she knew even the fading afternoon sun was deadly for the Vrolek---but her ill-temper was bleeding into frustration, and the Slayer was feeling the first nibbles of impotence along her too-taut limbs.  The Soul Eaters were still here in Sunnydale; the impending storm was testimony to that, and the fact that she now believed she could feel them herself only contributed to the sense of urgency that was growing in her gut.  

"Are you really mad at Spike?"  

The question was softly spoken, and it took Buffy by surprise, swiveling in the front seat to turn and stare at her little sister.  "Why are you asking?"

Dawn shrugged.  "I don't know.  It's just…thinking about you two fighting…makes me remember about…"  She ducked her head, pushing her hair behind her ear.  "Spike's family," she murmured.  "I don't want to lose him, too."

Buffy sighed.  "You're not going to lose him," she said quietly.  "We just had a…disagreement.  I'm not _really_ mad at him.  Just…slightly tiffed."  And scared, she added silently.  Don't forget a huge pot of scared.

"That's OK, then."  The teenager tried to smile, but failed, her eyes darkening as she slid herself forward to perch her chin on the headrest in front of her.  "When this is all over…can he…well, without Mom around, I was just thinking…"  She bit her lip.  "Maybe Spike could move in with us…you think?"

It surprised her that she hadn't thought of that herself, and the sudden image of waking up to Spike every morning---actually being there in body as well as in spirit---reined her nerves, wrapping her in unsuspected warmth.  "Would you be all right with that?" Buffy asked carefully, hazel eyes probing the younger Summers girl's.  "You don't think it would be weird?"

Dawn shook her head.  "I think it would be right."  She looked ready to say something more, but her gaze jumped to the side, past her sister's shoulder.  "Here comes Giles."

"All set?" Buffy asked as her Watcher slide behind the steering wheel.

"There are far too many impossibly stubborn women in my life," Giles muttered, jerking the key in the ignition, revving the engine as the car jumped to life beneath him.

"I take it Cortina didn't want to stay," the Slayer commented.

"Oh, no," he said harshly as he screeched into the street.  "Quite the opposite.  She couldn't seem to get rid of me fast enough.  Wouldn't even listen while I tried to go over what they should do in the event of an emergency."

The look that passed between the two girls only thinly veiled their amusement.  "Cortina's a grown demon," Buffy said, carefully enunciating her words as if she was speaking to a child, barely able to hide her smile.  "I think she can take care of herself for the half hour it takes for us to switch cars, and grab some clothes and weapons."

"It's still a risk," he rejoined.  "Even though the Council seems to have left Sunnydale, they still need her in order to do this binding ritual.  We can't let our guards down for even a moment, or they'll be there, sneaking in and snatching her away again before we can even blink to stop them."

His knuckles were white as he twisted the wheel in his hands, forcing the girls to reach hurriedly for their arm rests to right themselves as he swerved around the corner.  Buffy's amusement faded as she caught the play of emotions across his face…the anger, the frustration, the…

Oh.  My.  God.  Giles was in love with Cortina.  When did that happen?

"We'll get back as soon as we can," she assured, keeping her tone as neutral as possible.  "In and out.  I promise."

"I don't understand why we just can't continue using my car," he said.  "Then, there'd be no reason for this unnecessary trip in the first place."

"Because I think Cort's getting tired of being curled up on the floor under a blanket," Buffy said.  "And let's face it.  As cute as your car is, it's severely lacking in the leg room department.  Mom's is bigger, and she doesn't…"  Her voice choked as she realized what she'd been about to say, her face flushing as her eyes darted back to meet Dawn's.  The unspoken apology leapt between them.

The younger girl's gaze was shiny as she slid back into her seat.  "It's OK, Buffy," she said quietly.  "You're right.  She doesn't need it anymore."

They drove along in silence, each lost in the web of their emotions.  "You promise you'll be quick?" Giles finally asked, his eyes locked on the road ahead of him.

"Promise."

*************

She could tell from the squealing of the tires that he was angry, but at the moment, Cortina didn't care.  She didn't have a lot of time, and getting him out of the witches' apartment had taken far too long.    "OK, girls," she said as she strode determinedly away from the window to the table where Willow and Tara sat.  "You two are about to become my new best friends."

Willow looked up, her eyes wide, fingers frozen over the keyboard of her laptop.  "Huh?"

"How long before they get back?" the white demon asked, oblivious to their confusion.

The girls exchanged a quick look before turning back to face her.  "Buffy's place isn't too far from here," Willow explained.  "So if they're just going to grab some clothes and pick up the car, maybe…half an hour?"

Cortina nodded, as if somehow the answer satisfied her.  "And how long before you can find out where the Council took Spike?"

The redhead relaxed at this query.  "Oh, that's easy.  Ten minutes.  Tops."

"She's really good," Tara added unnecessarily.

"And once you know that, how long would it take to do a locator spell on Spike?"

"Oh."  This question took Willow back to being surprised.  "Um, that usually takes about twenty minutes…half an hour to set up.  But then it's fast."

Cortina frowned, chewing at her lip.  "That's cutting it too close," she murmured.  "Can you start the set-up before you actually know where he is?"

"Well, yeah, but---."

"Then do it."  The demon ignored the frowns exchanged between the two witches.  "I need some things.  Candles, and tabarka ash if you've got some.  I brought what I had, but I'm not sure it's enough."

"For wh…"  Willow's voice trailed off as the list of ingredients tolled its familiarity in her brain, and she slowly leaned back in her chair as her mouth thinned.  "I thought Giles said he didn't want any outside help in dealing with the Council," she said slowly.

"He said he didn't want help in _fighting the Council."  Cortina's face was resolute.  "I'm not.  I'm just making a friendly call on an old friend."  Her pale eyes scanned the two women's faces, softening slightly.  "This is for Buffy and Spike," she explained, leaning toward them, her white hair falling across her cheek.  "Nobody's going to get hurt.  I promise.  Now…do you have them?"_

Slowly, Willow nodded.  "But if Giles asked if we helped---."

Cortina smiled.  "---you had nothing to do with it," she finished.  

*************

It wasn't interfering.  Well, it was, but it was interfering in a good way, and it in no way contradicted what Rupert had requested.  He didn't want demons fighting humans, which was understandable, but not once did he say that demons couldn't help in other ways.  Not everyone had to fight to be useful.

As she lit the last of the candles, the circle that surrounded Cortina immediately extinguished, leaving her in the fading afternoon light of the bedroom.  Normally, she would've expected them to relight themselves within seconds, but this time, she found herself waiting, the digital clock on the nightstand ticking over once…twice…a third time, and, with each passing minute, her hope faded.  Damn it, she thought.  I didn't think she'd actually been serious.

She was about to rise from her seat within the ring, calling the whole thing off, when the flames jumped to life, and the gaseous form before her visibly sighed.

"This.  Is not.  Your cave," scolded the arrival, her annoyance edging her words.  "Which means…this is not a social call."

"No, it's not."

Another sigh, and then the shape solidified before her, taking on the familiar woman's form, the shock of green hair tumbling over her shoulders.  Dolly stood in the center of the room, her head almost touching the ceiling, and grimaced.    "We wiped the slate, Cort.  You can't be asking me to bail out your little human pets every time they have a problem."

"I'm not.  This is _my problem.  I called because I need your help for __me."  Slowly, she rose to her feet, and gazed sadly up at her old friend.  "It's the Soul Eaters.  They're back."_

*************

The rain had started by the time they pulled up in front of the apartment building again, pelting their skin with thousands of miniscule razors as the girls made a mad dash for the front door while Giles locked up the car.  They had been even faster than promised, neither female eager to spend too much time in the empty house at the moment, tossing only the most essential of items into their bags before making a break for the SUV in the drive.  Of course, their haste was helped considerably by the Watcher's insane speed on the roads, but no words were uttered in rebuke, the growing sense of dread silencing their tongues.  

Standing in the doorway, Buffy shook the rain from her hair.  "Please tell me you guys figured out where they're going," she said, not even looking into the room.  "Because we don't have lots of time."  She was halfway across the threshold when she finally looked up, but when she did, she froze, hazel eyes caught by the three pale faces that stared back at her.  "What?" she demanded.  "What is it?"

They didn't have a chance to respond before the air thickened between them, and the Slayer held up her arm, holding back Dawn and Giles who had rushed up behind her.  Although they had told her afterward about what exactly had happened after the cleansing ritual, and though she'd had access to Spike's own memories of the events, Buffy had never actually witnessed Dolly's comings and goings herself, so seeing the immense demon suddenly appear in front of her was disconcerting, to say the least.  She wouldn't even have been sure it was her if it wasn't for the green hair that flowed down the woman's back.

"What's going on here?" she repeated, taking the few steps into the room.  Only then did the new arrival turn, and Buffy's breath caught in her throat as she saw the unconscious form in her arms.  "Spike…"

Gently, Dolly stooped to lay the vampire out on the floor, watching as the Slayer rushed forward to kneel at his side.  "It's a good thing I know you're under a lot of stress right now," she commented, "because normally I get really pissy about people being that rude when I'm doing them a favor."

Buffy looked up, confusion coloring the gratitude in her eyes.  "Thank you," she said, and then turned to face the trio on the couch.  "But I don't understand.  What the hell happened while we were gone?"

"Yes, I'm very much interested in hearing this."  Giles' voice was crisp as he strode into the arm, leaving Dawn hanging back by the open door.  His blue eyes were locked on Cortina, who seemed to melt into her seat under his gaze.  "You said you wouldn't get anyone else involved."

"Hear her out."  Dolly's voice was commanding, and she folded her arms across her heavy breasts as she pulled herself up to her full height.  "And thank you so much for lumping me in as anyone else."

"Fine.  You want the story.  You're going to get it."  Cortina straightened, thrusting out her chin as she spoke.  "Just don't interrupt me too much because Buffy's right.  We don't have very much time."  Her pale gaze flickered over the group.  "We have three issues at hand right now.  One.  The Soul Eaters are here in Sunnydale.  That storm out there?  That's their train, and they're getting ready to get on the rail and find what they came for."  Her eyes settled on Buffy.  "You can feel them now, can't you?"

The Slayer nodded.  "And they know we're here," she said, avoiding her Watcher's surprise as he turned to look down at her.  

"Which means we have to get you off this track and somewhere safe," Cortina said.  "That's two."

"We got the info on the flight almost right after you left," Willow volunteered.  "The Council's headed for South America."

"Issue number three.  The Council needs me to bind the Soul Eaters, and they're not going to stop until they find me.  They've pretty much got the Hellmouth covered, and my caves are no longer completely safe, so that means until we get more answers, I need to get the hell out of Dodge."

"But I don't---." 

Cortina cut Giles off with a wave of her hand.  "Do you at least agree on those three points, Rupert?"

He hesitated, feeling the eyes of the women in the room on him, and then reluctantly nodded.

"Good."  She took a deep breath.  "So…I decided to call my favorite teleport service for some help.  And before you say a word, Rupert, it's the fastest way to get everyone to safety, and if that's not your number one priority right now, then you're not the man I thought you were."

Two pairs of blue eyes locked in silent battle, but it was the set behind the spectacles that ducked first.  "You're right," he murmured.  "Safety is our primary concern."  He turned to Dolly.  "Just so long as teleporting is _all you're going to do."_

The demon snorted.  "Trust me.  If it wasn't for the fact that it's these damn Soul Eaters again, I wouldn't even be here.  But I'll play taxi as long as it keeps Cort alive, and when this is all over, you guys can just plan on owing me in a very large way."

"How did you find Spike so fast?"  Buffy's gaze darted from Cortina to the witches, her brow furrowed.

"Well, once we knew where they were headed, we figured we'd do a locator spell---," Willow started.

"Magic doesn't work around Cortina," Giles interrupted with a frown.  "The spell would've failed."

"I was going to have Dolly whisk me far enough while they actually did the spell," the white demon explained.  "But as it turns out, she didn't have to."

"Yeah," the redhead said, jumping back into the conversation.  "Once I was in the air controller system, finding the coordinates on the plane was simple.  That's pretty much all Dolly needed."

Rising to her feet, Cortina crossed to Giles' side.  "Doll's agreed to split us all up," she said.  "She can drop Buffy and Spike off somewhere safe, and get me away from the Council at the same time."

"For how long?"

"Until we have answers.  It took the Soul Eaters a week to get to Sunnydale.  We should be able to hide Buffy and Spike from them for a few days, at least."

He was silent for only a moment.  "I'm going with you."

She didn't even bother hiding her smile.  "Somehow, I knew you were going to say that."

Buffy sat back on her heels.  "Look, Cortina," she said.  "Not that I don't appreciate all the help here, but I don't plan on going anywhere.  I'm tired of playing hide-and-seek with these things.  I ready to start fighting them."

"And how do you plan on doing that?"  The white demon's gaze was level, but kind.  "Do you know how to kill them?  Or do you know anything about this binding ritual that the Council has?  Do you even have any idea why the Council kidnapped Spike in the first place?"  She shook her head.  "You can't fight what you don't know, Buffy.  Sometimes, the best plan is to hide and wait.  It doesn't mean you're any less strong.  In fact, I'd probably say it means just the opposite.  Find your answers first.  Then you can fight."

Though she looked at the Slayer as she spoke, Cortina's words were directed at all of them, hoping it would be enough to convince them to accept her offer.  It had been difficult to talk Dolly into helping the others as well, and if it had been for anyone else, the Vrolek just might have given up and hidden on her own.  But it wasn't.  It was for Buffy, and it was for Spike, and most importantly, it was for Rupert, and that meant she would stand by them, even if it meant getting killed as a result of the Council's little ritual.  Not the happiest place to be in the world at the moment, but she couldn't just back away from them.  Not now.  Not after realizing how much she really did love the Englishman.  She wasn't Cortina the Destroyer anymore.  She wasn't.

And maybe if she repeated that often enough to herself, she might one day believe it.

Buffy's look was long and searching, and the room held its breath while it waited for her to respond.  "No wonder you and Giles get along so well," she finally said, with a small smile.  "You sound like a Watcher."

Cortina grimaced good-naturedly.  "Oh, god, hit a girl below the belt, why don't you," she joked, stealing a peek at Rupert to see him lower his head to hide his own grin.

Behind all of them, Dolly let out a huge sigh.  "Please tell me the show is over," she complained loudly.  "Because I've got a meter running here."

*************

He was still unconscious.  

She hadn't given it too much thought while back in Sunnydale, and in the flurry of getting their things to prepare for leaving, Buffy had let her worry slip behind her Slayer mask, putting herself through the ultra-efficiency motions that set everybody straight and got the job done.  After extensive arguing with Giles, she had finally won in the battle of where Dawn was going, and right now, the teenager was asleep in the next room, hopefully dreaming of cute teenaged boys and proms that didn't get crashed by demon dogs.  The issue of research had been more difficult, with Tara and Willow pushing to be allowed to stay at Cortina's caves to continue going through her library, while each couple---Buffy and Spike, Giles and Cortina---took their own share of books to read.  The witches had won that fight, and now, Buffy was perched on the end of the double bed, their few belongings dropped unceremoniously to the floor, staring at the still form of her lover.

He wasn't actually that still.  Somewhere in the depths of his sleep, Spike was dreaming, moaning and twitching and whimpering in response to some unseen stimuli, and with each passing moment, the tension was twisting within Buffy's stomach, desperate for him to wake and be rid of whatever it was that was haunting him so.  Was it one of those dreams he'd told her about?  Was he at that very minute fighting a Soul Eater?  In a way, she was almost jealous.  Outside of the playground dream, she didn't think they'd intruded into her subconscious quite as insidiously as they had with Spike, which meant that maybe she wasn't the important player here.  Maybe the Council was wrong.  Maybe they didn't want her.  Maybe they were only interested in Spike.

But she knew that wasn't true.  She'd felt them curling around her legs, preparing to feed on her while she'd been locked in ice, staring at her Mom on the couch.  They wanted her.  There was no mistaking that.  But did they want Spike more?

His head jerked then, whipping to the side as the veins in his neck bulged, his hands clawing at the blankets beneath him as his back arched.  In a flash, Buffy was there, straddling his hips, strong hands forcing him back down into the mattress.  "Spike!" she said sharply, fairly sure just the sound of her voice wasn't going to work.  "Spike!" she repeated.  "Wake up!"

He gasped, gulping at the air, almost as if he were trying to breathe, and the Slayer shook him again, more violently this time, desperate for anything to snap him out of this.  He'd been unconscious long enough.  Time to rejoin the real world.

As her arm drew back to hit him---_sorry so sorry---Spike's eyes shot open, his body jerking upright, sending her tumbling backwards onto the bed.  There was a moment of panic in his wide blue eyes as he stared at her, unseeing, and then, his hands began to claw at his t-shirt, tugging at its hem as he pulled it from his jeans, yanking it up and over his head as if frantic to shed a second skin.  He was awake---she could feel the confusion mingling with searing pain scouring through his head---but unaware, his only impulse to rid himself of the fire that sheathed him---_burning burning hothotsofuckinhot_---but even that didn't prepare her for the sight of his bare chest as it bared to the cool air._

Five curling scratches splayed across the porcelain skin, converging into a blistered burn at their center, almost as if a hand of fire had reached into the vampire's flesh and just squeezed…

*************

Travers' free hand shook as he reached for the cup of tea on the desk, but that one motion was the only indication that anything was amiss with him.  His eyes were blank as he stared at the young man, coldly detached as he sipped quietly at the drink, and he took his time replacing it before him.  "How?" he asked, the one word more deadly than any reprimand that could've come from his lips.

"We don't know," the young man admitted.  "He was there when we took off, and he was gone when we landed."

"What happened to the guard?"

"He…fell asleep."

"And there's no dust?  He couldn't have been killed mid-flight?"

The young man shook his head.  "But Ms. Summers' body was left untouched," he offered, as if that would make any difference.  "And there are no signs of a struggle."

Quentin sighed and lifted his hand in dismissal, watching as the messenger turned on his heel and practically bolted from the room.  Spike was gone.  He knew it had to be Buffy and the influence of her witch friends; somehow, they must have perfected some sort of teleport spell that had snatched the vampire back, right from under their noses.  It was the only possible explanation.  Under any other circumstances, he would've been proud of her cunning; those types of intelligence and instincts were what made her such a valuable asset to the Council, were why he'd been so diligent in protecting her from the children of the wind in the first place.  But now…

Leaning back in his chair, Travers closed his eyes, striving for some semblance of peace from the dread that was filling him.  "God help you, Buffy Summers," he murmured.  She was going to need it.

To be continued in Chapter 19: Lulled by the Coil…


	19. Lulled by the Coil

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Cortina has called upon Dolly to teleport Buffy and Spike, and she and Giles, to safety.  Spike has awoken from his sleep with a burn mark on his chest…

*************

Her fingers shook as they massaged the cream into the burns, the accompanying sting in her own chest making her grit her teeth against the pain.  You're not hurt, she had to remind herself.  Though it sure as hell felt like it.

On the bed, Spike lay motionless, eyes closed, jaw locked, and it surprised Buffy how solemnly he was accepting the treatment.  She could almost hear the vortex of emotions running through his body, a distant hum that vacillated from a quiet ebb to a thunderous roar, yet none of it seemed apparent across the tapestry of his face.  It wasn't normal, not for the chipped vamp.  In spite of protestations to the contrary, he was always so proud of his feelings; they were badges of honor displayed for anyone to see.  And now he was doing his best to hide them away, tuck them into oblivion, desperately trying to keep them hidden from her.  More than any damage his body might currently be displaying, this frightened the Slayer into her own silence.  Because it meant he was afraid, and fear from Spike was not something she was used to dealing with.

"Where are we?"  His voice was a low murmur, coated in thick sobriety, betraying none of the sensations coursing through him.  He didn't even bother opening his eyes, just rested in repose under her ministrations.  It was eerie.

"Dolly's gotten us away from Sunnydale," Buffy said softly.  "Someplace safe.  For a few days, at least."  She added the next as an afterthought.  "We hope."

"Cort must've knocked some sense into Rupert then," he replied.  "Don't see him hiring the demon train to help us sort out this mess on his own."  It was then that he opened his eyes, the sapphire almost completely overtaken by black, the whites bloodshot as if he'd been awake for days on end.  "They here, too?"

Buffy shook her head.  "Someplace else.  Cortina thought it best if we separated for now.  Give the Council different targets in trying to find us."

Mention of the Council was enough to drive Spike to close his eyes again, and he sighed unnecessarily.  "Bastards," he muttered.  "Just once, I'd like to get my hands on that Travers bloke and twist his bureaucratic neck.  See how he feels havin' his head messed around with for a change."

In spite of the violence behind his tone, she couldn't help but smile.  This was the Spike she knew.  Tread loudly and carry a huge stick.  She hadn't realized how much she'd missed him over the past few days.

"S'pose I have Dolly to thank for the rescue," he continued.  "Don't think Red's repertoire extends to teleportation."

"Willow found you first.  The rest…"  She let the words trail off, wondering for the first time why he was asking her so many questions.  He should know these things; they were in her head, plain as day.  All he had to do was go looking for them.

_That_ thought he seemed to hear.  "Too tired," he mumbled.  "Too hard."  He opened himself up then, letting the wash of exhaustion that was seeping through his muscles surge forward, enveloping her in velvet cloaks that made her want to curl up into his side and sleep.  Whatever the Council had used on him had been powerful stuff, and combined with the escapades of his dreams, there was little fight left in the vampire.  Only the desire to rest.  For a very long time.

"You're going to have to tell me what happened," Buffy said, setting aside the cream before stretching out alongside him.  Her body curved into his.  "It was the dream, right?"

"Don't know how," Spike admitted, letting one hand come up to play distractedly with her hair.  In spite of the pain, it seemed so far away now, dissipating into vaporous ghosts that fluttered too far along the edges of his subconscious to be caught.  Holding Buffy, feeling her heart echoing in his own, drawing upon her strength even as he hated the fact that he was forced to do so…this was real.  Not the other.  Not the one who mimicked his past.  Except, it was.  He now bore its mark.  Somehow, the Soul Eater had manifested his torture into a visible pain for the waking world to see, and there would be no more hiding, no more denying, no more wishing that it would all go away.  It would soon be time to face the truth, to tell Buffy just what was going on and what he thought it meant.  And to hope that she didn't run from him when she knew.

"We can talk about it later," she murmured, letting her own lids flutter shut.  "Right now, just sleep."

It was that word---_sleep_--- that drove him up, bolting ramrod straight, knocking a surprised Buffy aside.  "No," he rasped.  "No more sleeping.  Not 'til we get this sussed.  Not goin' through it again.  Won't."

His eyes were wild, his body teeming with electrical charges that animated him more than he'd been since waking.  She was almost afraid to touch him; surely there would be some kind of shock in doing so.  "So we talk about it," she said, crawling around so that she knelt in front of him, his legs spread-eagled either side of her hips.  "Tell me what happened.  Where did you get this mark?"

"Her."  Venom dripped from the single word, hatred and frustration and hurt biting it from his lips.  "Bitch was…pissed 'cause I told you about her.  Reached into my chest and started playing with my insides like they were soddin' silly putty."

"The Soul Eater is a woman?"

He shrugged.  "Don't think so.  I think it just…picked that particular form to…get inside my head.  Told you.  It's been messin' with me, usin' things only I know to…"  His lips pursed, and he swung his legs around her to rise from the bed, pacing along the length of the room in a caged frenzy.  "You don't know.  It doesn't make sense to me, but that part of my cranium's locked up nice and tight against the plundering hordes, which includes you for some reason, and the only one outside of me with the bloody key is that soul-eating hellbitch.  And for some reason, she's taken up residence.  And it's starting to brass me off."

"So get off your ass and start fighting this thing."

He stopped, blue eyes wide as he stared at her in amazement.  "What the hell do you think I've been doin'?" he asked.  "Who got you out of your house when you found your mum's body?  And who was the one that helped you on the playground?  I deserve a little credit here, at least."

"That's not what I meant."  Buffy inhaled deeply, struggling to control her own temper.  With their minds linked as they were, his fury was contagious and it was all she could do not to begin feeding off of it herself.  "What I meant was…you're angry?  Then, use it.  Focus it on beating these things."

Spike snorted.  "Like we know how to do that."

"Maybe we don't.  But it means we try harder to figure it out.  We've got allies in this…Cortina, and Giles…we don't have to face these things alone."

He stopped in his tracks, eyes hooded, gazing down at the flush in her cheeks.  "Have we come back to this, then?" he asked quietly.  "Because I've got no problems hashing this out."

"Back to what?"

"Us.  Partners.  Facing things alone."

She regarded him, hazel unwavering.  "You've been out of it for a long time," she said slowly.  "And a lot of that time, all I could do was sit around and think."  She attempted to smile, and failed.  "Not my favorite pastime activity.  Makes my head hurt."

"I meant what I said, Buffy.  You're used to bein' a lone gun, even if you do have the witches, and Xander, and Giles for back-up.  I don't fancy havin' to play at bein' Mr. Slayer, and watchin' you do my fightin' for me."  The corner of his mouth lifted.  "Not that I don't _love watchin' you fight," he murmured, and leaned forward to crawl onto the bed.  "And not that I don't appreciate havin' you watchin' my back.  It's just a matter of balance.  And right now, you're tryin' to tip the scales."_

"It's not like I'm _trying_ to be tippy."

His hand came up to brush back the hair from her face, to see the honest despair in her eyes.  She believed that so strongly; maybe that was all that mattered.  "Just don't be thinkin' that I'm not capable," he said.  It wasn't an order; it was a request, softly spoken, hiding a century of pain.  He needed her to believe in him so badly; he could only hope that she would understand that without him having to actually say the words.

"Trust me.  That is one thing I _don't_ think."  Reaching up, Buffy skimmed a finger over the burn mark on his chest.  "But I can't stand seeing you in pain, either.  And if that means I sometimes rush into fixing it the only way I know how, you've got to understand that's because that's who I am."

Spike caught her hand in his, entwining their fingers.  "As long as I get the same consideration."

"Like I'm going to be able to forget that jump into the middle of the cleansing ritual," she teased.  "Mr. Impetuous.  That's who you are."

This was better.  This was familiar ground.  The banter, the ease, the implicit trust.  There was so much buffeting them at the moment, tossing them from rock to rock, leaving tiny wounds and scars along the way, that they both knew the only way they were going to survive intact was by holding on to the other, and most importantly…believing.

When his lips met hers, they lingered in a gentle caress, not completely devoid of passion but not consumed by it either.  "I was thinking," Buffy said as she pulled away.

"Dangerous," Spike murmured with a smile.

She slapped at his arm playfully.  "I was _thinking_," she repeated, "that this Soul Eater doesn't bother you as much when I'm with you, right?"

He immediately sobered at the mention of the other.  "Yeah," he agreed.  "But it's still there.  Don't forget the playground."

"But we dealt with that.  Together.  So, maybe, if I go to sleep first, then you go, you can still get some rest, and we can have a mini-reprieve from things that go burn in the night."

As much as he dreaded the thought of returning to face the Soul Eater, Buffy's plan had a twisted Slayer logic to it, and Spike knew that both his body and his head needed the respite.  With her there to help fend off any more attacks, surely it would be safe enough to risk.  Her last dream had actually been kind of fun before demon Joyce stepped back into the picture.  And maybe the distance they had gained from Dolly's teleportation was enough to weaken the hold it seemed to have on his head.

"You promise not to dream of anything skating related?" he quizzed, his tone noticeably lighter.  "Not sure if Slayer on Ice is necessarily better than dealin' with demons that like to play field hockey with my entrails."

"You should be grateful for one of those," she said, pulling him gently back to lie down on the mattress.  "I haven't had one of those dreams where I find Giles and my mom having sex in my bed since this got started.  That kind of thing will scar you for life."

*************

His back was to her, his head bowed over the book before him.  He was tired, just as they were all tired, but his determination was unflagging, reading through the texts they'd brought with them with the same devotion she'd come to recognize in the Watcher as part of his dedication to his Slayer.  "You're being very quiet," Cortina said from the bed.

"I'm reading," Giles replied without turning around.  "Contrary to the teenage mythos, it's generally a silent occupation."

"You won't do Buffy any good if you're too worn out to function.  Come to bed."

"And I won't do her any good if she manages to get killed because we didn't find the answers in time," he countered.

Pulling her knees up to her chest, Cortina wrapped her arms around them, hugging them to herself as the shivering that had been threatening to overwhelm her since their arrival began to succeed.  "Just come out and say it," she begged.  "I'm a big girl.  I can take it.  And it's infinitely better than having to sit here and watch you play the Quaker meeting game any longer."

She saw him raise his head, heard the heavy sigh as he pushed himself away from the desk.  "What is it you expect me to say?" Giles asked, half-turning in his seat to gaze back at her.  "Thank you for undermining my authority?  Or perhaps you're more interested in my undying gratitude for involving demons in what should really be none of their business.  Either way, you're not getting it."

"And neither are you," she bit back.  "Big picture here, Rupert.  I have access to resources that you don't.  As long as nobody gets hurt as a result, what does it matter if I take advantage of them?"

"You did it without telling me."

"Because you would've stopped me if I did."

"That's not the point---."

"No!  That's very much the point!"  Her breathing was labored, her normally pale skin starting to flush from the combination of frustration and ire coursing through her veins.  "I am not a child, and yet you're constantly treating me like one.  All right.  So, maybe, I haven't been exhibiting the most grown-up tendencies over the past couple days.  I think I'm a little entitled to some rash behavior in light of the fact there's a group of crazy Brits out there who are only interested in me as a…whatever, in this binding ritual of their's.  But you were the one who convinced me we can fight this thing in other ways, Rupert.  So why start criticizing my methods when I do?"

"Because it won't stop there.  Involve one demon, and then there will be another, and another, and eventually, you will have turned this into exactly what it's not, a battle between the demon world and the human world.  I won't allow that to happen."

"Why not?  That's what you live, isn't it?  Guiding the Chosen One in her battle against the evil demon populace?"  Cortina shook her head.  "Don't be fooling yourself into thinking this is something it's not.  You're smarter than that.  You're _better_ that that."

His eyes flashed behind his glasses.  "Since you seem to be so full of the insight into my thinking," he snapped, "why don't you share what you believe this is about?"

Her nails dug into the flesh in her arms, drawing blood that began to dot the fabric of her robe.  "Don't make me say it out loud, Rupert," she warned.  

It pulled him from his seat, compelled his feet to cross the distance of the expansive room to the foot of the bed.  The tension wound through his body in serpentine coils, but his increased proximity did not open his eyes regarding his lover's agitated state.  Instead, Giles seemed focused on her face, his own jaw rigid.  "This is so much bigger than you think, Cortina," he said, his voice deceptively soft.  "Your dilettante psychoanalysis is only a distraction.  I won't let you distract me from helping Buffy."

"But it's not," she argued, and let herself go, crawling forward to the edge of the mattress to kneel in front of him.  "Bigger, I mean.  It's about the same thing it's always been for you.  Get the answers to stop the bad guy.  One on one.  Or two on a horde, as this case may be."  Slowly, she lifted a trembling hand to press it against his chest.  "You want me to say it?  All right."  The deep breath Cortina took rattled through her lungs.  "You don't want me contacting anyone remotely demonish for help because you're afraid that I'll return to being the Destroyer.  That it will somehow open a door for me into the violence I used to get off on."

When he began to edge away, her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, hooking him so that he was forced to stop, to confront her as she laid it bare for him.  "That's ridiculous," he said, but his voice lacked conviction, the truth of what she was offering only now seeping into his consciousness.  

"No more ridiculous than you thinking that if that can happen to me, it could happen to you as well."  Cortina's mouth softened, her eyes sad.  "I know you fear it.  I know that you live every day with Ripper just underneath your skin.  Mine is the voice of experience, Rupert.  I think you should listen to it."

"I am not…I told you.  Those days are behind both of us.  We are who we are today _because_ of them, but they are _not_ us anymore."

"Yet the fear remains, because when times get hard, and we find doors closing around us, it becomes more and more difficult not to revert to methods we know have worked in the past.  Destructive, nihilistic, and violent methods that terrify the people we are today.  Even as we remember the thrill of the freedom it gave us."  Her pale eyes dropped.  "I can still taste the bloodlust when things get bad.  Hot, and spicy, and so alive that I wonder how I ever gave it up in the first place.  And then I remember their screams.  And I remember the pain.  And I remember not liking myself very much."

His arms went around her automatically, forgetting his own thoughts as he lived through hers, and when he felt her press her cheek against his racing heart, Giles closed his eyes, bending his head to press his forehead against the white of her hair.  "I don't want to lose you," he murmured.

"And you won't," Cortina assured.  "Just like I know I'm not going to lose you.  We're stronger than that.  We can't run from our pasts.  You told me that, remember?  But we can't ignore them either.  Not when they offer so much for us to learn from."

Against his will, the chuckle rumbled from his chest.  "Just my luck to fall in love with someone smarter than me," Giles said, pulling away just enough to look down at her again.  "I'm going to have to do something about that."

"Sleep," she instructed, tugging at his hand.  "That's all you need."

*************

The time for playing nice was over.  As his jet cut silently through the air, Quentin regarded the colleague who sat opposite him in cold approval.  "That's an interesting suggestion," he said, rolling the pen between his fingers.  "Not one I'd expect to hear from a Watcher."

"These are desperate times," the young man said.  "Normally, I wouldn't presume to approach you with such an idea, but---."

Travers waved a hand in dismissal, cutting the other man off.  "No reason to justify your motives," he said.  "Your assumption is correct.  If we don't stop the children of the wind from finding the Slayer, we not only lose our strongest warrior, we will potentially also lose our reason for existing as an organization.  There are forces gathering on the Hellmouth for which we need Buffy Summers, in peak fighting condition.  We cannot afford to have her sacrificed if there is a way for us to prevent it."  He wrote a note on the pad in his lap.  "Are they still watching the others?" he asked.

"Yes.  We've received word that the two witches returned to the Vrolek's caves.  The other two seem to be going about life as normal.  It doesn't appear that the Slayer has involved them very heavily in this."

Quentin nodded.  "I'm going to have the seers back in London intensify their search.  In the meantime, dispatch a team to bring in Miss Rosenberg and Miss Maclay.  It seems that Buffy may need some encouragement to return to the fold…"

To be continued in Chapter 20: Summer Dreams…


	20. Summer Dreams

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  An exhausted Buffy and Spike have been whisked away to safety by Dolly, and are attempting to sleep without interference from the Soul Eaters…

*************

The first thing she felt was an overwhelming heat, licking with kitten tongues across her skin, up her muscled calves, tickling the back of her thighs before caressing the curves of her waist, wrapping and embracing her in a sheath that promised exquisite pleasure alongside the burn.  She could smell the sand beneath her cheek, coarse and gritty where it clung to her outstretched arm, and inhaled the scents of the ocean as they drifted in from the water.  The beach.  One of her favorite non-slayage places to be.

Between the soft lapping of the waves against the shore and the warmth prickling her eyelids, Buffy felt the sudden need to sleep, and wondered briefly if she could risk it, if a short nap in the sun would turn her into a lobster or if she had remembered to put the sunblock on before lying down.  Better to be safe than sorry, she thought, and reached blindly out to her side, feeling around for the bag she knew was there.

Her fingers curled around the fabric, dragging it closer, but when it caught, stopping her arm in mid-crook, Buffy frowned, her eyes flickering open to blink against the blazing afternoon shine.

"Thought this was s'posed to be my little part of this fantasy," Spike drawled, his hand tight around the bag, his skin glowing even more white under the sun's rays.  "Or am I remembering your dream wrong?"

Though he was really more of an outline, Buffy smiled, realizing for the first time that she was actually asleep, that all this was one of her own dreams manufactured by her subconscious, hopefully to provide her with a much needed respite from the whirlwind of death and drama that seemed to be winding around her in the waking world.  "Actually," she said, rolling onto her side and propping her head up in her hand, "you kept your mouth shut during the sunblock bit.  I didn't know it was you until I felt the…"  Her gaze dropped to the hand curled around the bag's strap.  There, on his long finger, rested the Gem of Ammara.

He noticed it as she did, and let go of the bag to hold his hand up, fingers splayed.  "It's heavier than I remember it," Spike noted, testing its weight, and twisted it around his knuckle with his other hand.  "Wonder what would happen if I took it off?  Think I'd go poof?"

"Don't!"  Grabbing his hand as it began to tug at the ring, Buffy looked up at him in shocked horror.  "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

His lips curled into an amused smirk.  "Just a dream, luv.  It's not like I'm goin' to burst into flame for real."

"And you know this because…?"  Sitting herself up, she looked pointedly at the deserted beach around them.  "Last dream you had, you woke up with some very real burns.  Or had you forgotten that part already?  And just because it looks like we're alone here, doesn't mean there still might not be something dangerous lurking about.  Don't be helping it by doing something stupid."

Slowly, his smile faded, to be replaced with that pensive worry she'd been hoping to forego in dreamland.  "Guess you've got a point there then," Spike murmured, letting the ring slide back down his finger to rest comfortable at its base.  He glanced up at the blazing sky, squinting against the too-bright sun.  "How the hell can you see in this?" he complained, shielding his eyes from the brilliance.  "It's givin' me a headache."

She was on him in a second, forcing him to lie back on the hot sand, straddling his hips and pinning his arms so that he had no choice but to look up into the cloudless blue.  "So don't look," Buffy teased with a smile, giggling as his brow wrinkled, eyes narrowing to slits as he fought to make her out.

"Bloody wench," he murmured, but there was a laugh behind his tone.  Before she could react, he had thrown her off, sending her tumbling to the side, and leapt to his feet, standing before her with a wide grin on his face.

With both of them able to look at the other now without being blinded by too much sunshine, Buffy found her heart hammering inside her chest as she gazed at the vampire, her mouth suddenly dry.  He was beautiful.  There were no other words for it.  Before Spike, she would've felt silly placing such an adjective at the feet of a guy, but now, it seemed the only one appropriate.  Beautiful.  And hers.

Sculpture come to life, marble-like skin that glistened in the brightness, power housed within limbs that knew both violence and gentility.  He was such a contradiction in terms, a demon and not, a man and not, capable of the most heinous of crimes yet possessed with a certain selflessness for those he deemed important in his life.  Of course, most of the badness had been in the past, prior to his coming into contact with Buffy, but it was still there, a part of him, a part of who he was, and the fact that he now chose to move on from the worst of it meant more to the Slayer than any words he might say.  She only hated that it had taken her so long to finally figure it out.

She tilted her head, hazel gaze sweeping over him, and bit back the smile that sprang to her lips as it hesitated over his hips.  Obviously, he hadn't noticed yet…

"What?" the vampire asked, catching the aborted grin, noticing where her eyes were lingering.  "What's so…"  His voice trailed away as he glanced down and saw the brightly patterned swim trunks that hung loosely from his lean hips.  "Bugger," he muttered, then looked up at her through his lashes, eyes flashing.  "You couldn't have made them black?  I look like Harris!"

Buffy laughed.  "I don't know.  I think they're kind of cute, in a geeky, my mom does my shopping and I got dressed in the dark, kind of way."

"Well, if you think I'm wearin' 'em for one more second, you've got another thing comin'." 

As she watched, Spike yanked the drawstring that held the fabric up, loosening the waist and allowing them to fall from his hips, kicking them into the surf with a vehement lash.  "Ooo," she cooed with a small purse of her lips.  "I think I like this much better."

His body hadn't been excited before, but a comment like that couldn't go unattended, his cock already starting to swell as his platinum head lifted to stare down at her.  "Turnabout's fair play," he drawled, and let his azure gaze sweep over the tiny bikini that barely covered her.  

Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, knees drawing up to hide her body.  "You're kidding!  Somebody could come along!"

"It's a _dream_, Buffy.  And there's nobody else here."  He took a lazy step forward, tilting his head.  "Not like I haven't seen it all before anyway."

"Do you have any idea how badly I'll burn?  And in places where it will most definitely _not_ feel good.  Not that sunburn ever actually does, but…"  She'd been inching herself backward while she spoke, eyes locked on Spike as he edged himself closer, knowing as she spoke that this was all just part of the game, that both of them knew there was no real intent behind the words.  That's what made it fun.

His foot caught the strap of the bag as he passed it, kicking it up into the air and catching it in one deft move, all without stopping his pace forward.  "That's what the block is for."

"I'm not going topless---."

"Topless, bottomless, the whole kit and caboodle, pet."

When he dove forward, meaning to tackle her, Buffy shrieked in delight, rolling to get out of his way, and watched as he landed with a thud in the sand.  "Gotta catch me first!" she cried, and was about to scamper to her feet when an icy hand clamped around her ankle.

"We've played this before," Spike said, dragging her across the beach while he crept forward himself.  He pinned her against the coarse grains, and began playing with the straps of her suit.  "Not really in the mood for tag right now."

She held her breath as his fingers slid down to the tie between her breasts that connected the two halves of her bikini top, tugging at it gently to loosen the knot there.  "No games then," she whispered, and reached out to stroke the corded muscle of his thigh.

"No games," he agreed.

When the inferno of the sunshine spread over the expanse of her now-exposed breasts, Buffy groaned, jaw dropping as her eyes fluttered shut.  It was more relaxing than she'd felt in days, like being wrapped up in the warmest blanket on the coldest night, with her mother's arms tightly around her.  Calming.  Except thinking about her mother only brought back the bad stuff and questions she had no answers to, so quickly she shuffled those comparisons to the back of her brain, opening her lids to bring her back into the moment.

He was lying half-on, half-off her, propping his head up in his hand as he gazed at the curve of her breast, his fingers tracing curlicues in the air above it, so close and yet so far to contact that the anticipation of feeling him touch her made her ache.  "Y'know," he said softly, "does it ever occur to you that this thing between us has only been going on for a couple weeks now?  Sometimes, with all this head readin' business, it feels like it's been forever, but when we're like this…"  His voice trailed off, his eyes dark even in the afternoon sunshine.

"Do you wish it was like this all the time?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.  It was a question she'd been dying to ask since before the business with the Soul Eaters had even started, but in light of all their angst over the past few days, it had slipped her mind.  Now, though, seemed like a good time to talk about it.  While they were in a good place.  Because she knew _her_ answer to that question and could only hope that Spike would feel the same way.  Of course, it wouldn't make a difference in the long run, but being on the same page was always of the good.  "You in your head, me in mine?" she added as clarification.

It took him a long to answer, his gaze seemingly captivated by the hardened bud of her nipple, the shadow of the curve beneath her breast.  "I don't like how you get all the bad with the good," Spike finally said.  "I don't like hurtin' you, and knowin' that some of the rot that runs through my head is less than pretty makes it…rough tryin' to keep it in check."

"I'm not complaining," Buffy started, but was silenced by his fingers on her lips, cool against the fever of her flesh.

"I wasn't done."  His eyes lifted, and the softness behind the storm of his gaze automatically netted the butterflies that had started fluttering in her stomach.  "Harnessing those kind of instincts isn't my favorite thing to do, but I've been doin' it to some degree ever since they shoved this chip up my brain.  So, I guess I can learn to take it that extra step so you don't get the spillover of carnage I can't help but consider every once in a while."  He paused, his thumb trailing over her chin.  "The other thing is…I don't like not havin' the control, of thinkin' someone else might be at the wheel and I'm stuck belted in the back, just watchin' the scenery go by."

"I haven't taken your control…have I?"  The worry that she'd overstepped the boundaries she'd placed on herself swelled within Buffy's breast, and her hazel gaze swept over his face, silently begging him to allay her fear.  The last thing she needed right now was to ruin what was probably the best thing that had ever happened to her.  If she drove him away the same way she'd driven away Riley, she wasn't sure what she was going to do.

"No," Spike was quick to assure, the lone word a hush against her cheek as he bent to sweep his lips over the swell of her mouth.  "It's not you.  It's the situation.  The watching from the sidelines while life goes on around you.  Like when you found your mum.  That was…"  How could he finish the thought?  Crippling?  Overwhelmingly painful?  It seemed to escape definition, and he growled with the frustration of being limited by words. 

She let her eyes close against the disappointment that she knew suddenly flared there.  "So I guess that means, you'd be all for having Giles and Will find some way of reversing all this once we get past this Soul Eater business," she said, and tried not to let the bitterness slide into her tone.

"I didn't say that.  Buffy, luv, look at me."  He waited until she lifted her lids again, and refrained from sighing out loud at the sorrow he saw there.  Bollocks.  He hated when he messed up what came out of his mouth.  "What I'm sayin'," he murmured, "is that at the end of the day, considerin' what bein'…connected like this might mean inconvenience-wise, I wouldn't trade it for all the blood in China.  Because there's so much more good that comes of it."  He pushed back her hair from her forehead, watching the sun glint in the strands of gold, and felt a twinge of sadness that he'd never be able to see it dance so during their waking hours.  "You give me life.  Exhilarating, pulse-pounding, glorious life.  It used to just be all about the metaphor.  That's what lovin' you felt like before."  He chuckled.  "Now it's the real deal."

Relief washed over her, allowing the heat from the sunshine to permeate the muscles that she'd locked against the potential pain of hearing him disavow the bond between them.  "Maybe we can work on those privacy issues," she said with a small smile.  "Find ways to give each other just a little bit more alone time."

"Maybe," he agreed, his voice barely audible as he feathered a trail of kisses down her cheek.  His next word was a mere breath.  "Later."

The moan escaped its tether from the back of her throat as Spike's cool tongue traced the whorl of her ear, his hand dancing down her side to caress the curve of her hip.  The tension that had been building in her body vanished, sinking into the sand beneath her as if pulled by some huge invisible magnet, and Buffy was left with the exquisite lethargy that should only come at the hands of an excellent masseuse.  Well, except Spike is _very much good with his hands, she thought lazily, the corner of her mouth lifting as her knees seemed to part of their own accord.  He definitely qualifies, even if he isn't really touching me in that way.  Yet._

His knee was nudging hers further apart, allowing his hand better access to the moisture between her legs, and as his index finger traced a path along her thigh, Buffy turned her head to him, taking him by surprise by meeting his mouth, and echoed the tenor of his strokes with the lazy search of her kiss.

Everything was forgotten…the grief that had suffused both of them since discovering Joyce's body…the unspoken fear of the mostly unknown enemy from which they were both running…the anxieties that had stretched taut two sets of nerves as they fought to define themselves within the confines of their unconscious link.  None of it mattered.  Not then.  And somehow, each of them instinctively knew that when they woke from this particular dream, the world would seem sharper, edges honed to a clarity that would make confronting it all that much simpler, their path a clear line before them.

Buffy's fingers wove through the curls at the base of Spike's neck, pulling him closer so that their kiss deepened, tongues searching and battling as they feasted on the other's mouth, her breath catching in her chest as two of his long fingers slid inside her.  Thrusting them in and out, shocks of pleasure coursed through her pelvis, bringing a corresponding moan to her lips.  

Spike chuckled as he broke free, sliding to nip at the scar on her neck.  "So," he drawled, "do I remember something 'bout 'fuck Mr. Nice Guy' from that first little dream of yours?"  He punctuated his words by plunging in a third finger, eliciting a hungry moan from the Slayer who writhed in the sand beneath him.

Shivers rippled down her spine with each powerful drive of his hand.  "Told you," she panted.  "You…white hat…get used to…it…"

The taunt prompted a growl from the vampire and the amber flecks danced behind his eyes.  "Not a nancy boy," he snarled, and added the fourth.

Buffy smiled, in spite of her growing incapacity to control her muscles, or her inability to contain the responsive thrusting of her hips as they met each of his strokes.  "Poof," she teased, and gasped when his head dipped to catch her nipple between his teeth.

When he felt her clench around his fingers, Spike hissed, his erection jumping against her thigh, straining to just bury itself deep inside her.  Not yet, he reasoned silently, his head swimming from the scent of her skin.  Want to make this last.  But the warning came unbidden, the niggling reminder that this was still just a dream and either of them could wake at any moment, be yanked from the bliss that was surrounding them in a fraction of a second and leave the other alone and unsatisfied.  Better to just take what he could and enjoy it for as long as possible.  Time was not currently their friend.

Pulling his hand free, Spike slid his mouth up the curve of her breast to her neck again, positioning himself over her so that the tip of his erection hovered above her slit.  "Love you so much," he murmured, readying himself to enter, but was startled by her powerful hands grasping his ass and guiding him inside, a single thrust that made her back arch away from the searing sand.

His head dropped, his eyes closed, as she held him there for what seemed an eternity, the muscles in her hands kneading his buttocks while her inner ones pulsed around his cock.  Scorching from below and above, her heat battling with that of the sun, and Spike felt like he was ablaze, his flesh threatening to slough away as it mounted in a piercing torture that made his mouth water.  When she finally loosened her grip, allowing him to ease, he took no pause as he proceeded to pound away, driving her deeper into the sand as her hands slid up, her nails clawing at his back.

"Spike…"  

His name was a long, drawn-out exhalation, her pulse quickening to the point where he feared her heart would jump from her chest.  For a moment, the vampire considered slowing, the momentary worry that he was hurting her skittering across his mind.  Mustn't hurt Buffy, he thought, and felt the draw to ease.

Almost immediately, she sank her teeth into his shoulder, not breaking the porcelain skin, but searing him with pleasure, and Spike roared, his demon emerging as his back arched, plunging himself deeper, more frenzied… undulating in tremoring waves as she came beneath him, the screams torn from her throat as her every muscle tensed from the relief.  

His teeth clenched as his body went rigid, his fangs drawing blood from his own lips as the tide overtook him and he came inside her.  It was only when it ebbed did the demon recede, his tongue lapping at the blood that stained his mouth before lowering himself to suck at hers, swallowing her breath as they both came down from their orgasms.

"Only you," he whispered against her skin as he collapsed on top of the Slayer.  "Always you."

"Us," Buffy corrected, and ran soothing fingertips over the scratches she'd left on his back.  "Always us."

*************

What the hell am I doing? Dolly thought as she materialized in the dimly lit library.  I've got to be out of my mind.  Yep.  That's it.  I've officially gone wandering into bonkers world because that has got to be the _only_ reason I am checking up on these silly little humans.  Damn Cort.  She is definitely going to pay for me going soft.

It was deserted, not what she'd been expecting at all.  A quick sweep of the stacks confirmed for the green demon that the room was empty, no sign of the two witches anywhere to be found.  Odd, she mused as she stepped out into the hallway.  They're supposed to be researching.  So much for due diligence.  And here I thought the redhead might actually be worth something.  The power had certainly leaked off her in corrosive flashes during the brief contacts she had had with her.  Guess she'd made a mistake.

Halfway down the corridor, though, and she came to a halt, the dead bodies of two of Cortina's guards barring the way.  Their necks had been slit, their blood still flowing to stain the earth in colorful hues, and Dolly felt a growing concern as she stopped to listen, smelling the pervasive scents of human in the air, fading into a mist should another one be lurking about.  Not good.  Not good at all.

As she floated further along, she found another corpse, this one a black-clad human, its weapon crushed at its side, and stopped, her need to continue stifled as she realized what had actually happened.  Cortina's not going to like this, Dolly thought as she faded away.  And something tells me the Slayer's going to be none too pleased when she finds out that her precious Council has snatched her little Wicca friends…

To be continued in Chapter 21: A New Birth…


	21. A New Birth

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Willow and Tara have been snatched by the Council in an attempt to lure Buffy back to Sunnydale, while our other two couples---Giles & Cortina, Buffy & Spike---have been separated and are hiding from the Soul Eaters while they try and find some answers…

*************

Her arm was stone as she lifted her hand to knock at Buffy's door.  I wonder if they're still fighting, Dawn thought wearily.  Although she had slept after their arrival at this…well, she was going to call it a hotel even though it didn't look like any hotel she'd ever seen before---her dreams had been fraught with images of the blond pair arguing, physically fighting even though Spike's chip was supposed to prevent that, their faces superimposing over the bodies of her mom and dad during the worst of their pre-divorce battles.  She would not consider herself rested; instead, she was a bundle of nerves, frightened of what she was going to encounter on the other side of the door, worried that things might have actually gotten worse.

Worse is not possible, a little voice inside her head chirped.  But even if they _are fighting, at least that would mean Spike's now up and that he's all right.  The teenager had yet to see him awake since Dolly's rescue; Buffy had been quick to dispatch her to her own room once they had arrived, firmly shutting the door behind her even though Dawn's arguments had still been coming as to why she wanted to be there when the vampire woke up.  The blonde didn't understand the depth of Dawn's devotion to Spike, or the fears that plagued her that she was going to lose another member of what she considered her family.  This was it.  No more letting Buffy shut her out.  She was putting her foot down here and now._

As soon as the door opened, she was speaking.  "Don't you dare close this," Dawn warned, grabbing the door jamb so that Buffy would be forced to slam it on her fingers if she actually did so.  "I need to make sure Spike's OK."

His head poked around the heavy wood at the sound of his name, a grin spreading across his classical features.  "Mornin', Bit," he said.

Her eyes widened, and for the first time, she saw that her sister was smiling, opening the door further to allow her entrance as she stepped back to give her room to come in.  It wasn't one of those fake now-is-not-the-time-for-this smiles, either.  This was relaxed Buffy, the life-is-actually-pretty-good Buffy, the Buffy she hadn't seen since the night she brought Spike home for dinner.  Dawn felt the tension begin to ease from her stomach, the words she'd prepared dissolve on her tongue, and she edged her way into the room, watching as the vamp crossed to the dresser and pulled out a shirt.

"Hungry?" Buffy asked, closing the door behind her.

The question took her by surprise.  "Um, starving, actually," she replied hesitantly.  Her blue gaze flickered between the two, watching Spike's pale muscles flex as he pulled a tee over his head---was that a wince she just saw?---before skittering to view her sister pick up the telephone on the nightstand.  "Are you ordering breakfast?  I want pancakes, a huge stack.  With blueberry syrup."  She waited until Buffy was busy talking before crossing to the vamp, laying her hand gently on his forearm.  "You OK?" she queried softly, eyes searching his face for any sign of a potential lie.  He'd do that, to protect her, just like her sister would, but right now, she was past being able to handle that.

He gave her a playful poke on her shoulder, flicking the ends of her hair as he grinned.  "You Summers women are a lot of fussbudgets, you are," he teased, and then hesitated just ever so slightly, as if he were listening to something only he could hear.  After a moment, he went on as if nothing had happened.  "Don't be frettin' over my sorry carcass.  It's goin' to take more than the Council of Wankers to bring me down."  He leaned conspiratorially in toward her, glancing at the Slayer out of the corner of his eye, the twinkle there unmistakable.  "That honor's probably goin' to be your sister's cookin'," he added, sotto voce, and then ducked when a pillow came flying through the air, laughing as it hit the wall behind him.

Dawn joined in the merriment, grateful for the return of normalcy that permeated the air, even if she didn't completely understand how it had happened.  "Be thankful you have a liquid diet," she added.  "I'm the one she's probably going to kill.  Have you _had her Pasta Surprise?"_

Buffy set down the phone, hands on her hips.  "That wasn't my fault," she argued, but there was a smile on her face, belying the quarrelsome tone in her voice.  "That was the cheese's."

The teenager rolled her eyes.  "Because cheese is _supposed to be that color," she said. _

"It was pretty!"

"It was toxic!"

"Everything turned out fine, didn't it?  I see you standing here, being all about the complaining.  It's not like I _actually killed you, you know."_

"Because Mom drove me to the hospital to get my stomach pumped!"  Dawn turned to Spike.  "Thank god at least _you can drive.  I think we're going to need a delivery service to the emergency room with Buffy in charge of the kitchen now."_

He chuckled.  "Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.  Right now, we'll just rely on good old demon room service."

"Is that where we are?"  Her voice was a combination of shock and awe.  "Some kind of resort for the demon set?"

"Yes, which means no more leaving your room unless one of us is with you."  Buffy's tone afforded no room for argument.  "The last thing I need to be worrying about right now is whether or not something's taking a bite out of you.  Although they'd probably just spit you back out again.  I hear teenaged girls are actually kind of salty."

Although the jokes bandied about were effectively clearing the air, lessening Dawn's apprehension about the situation between her two favorite people in the world, it didn't change the reality of why they were actually there in the first place.  There was silence for a moment, and then her eyes settled on the stack of books near the bed, drifting over the leathered covers, the gilt corners.  "So," she said, and her voice had grown serious again.  "I guess it's back to the research, then, huh?"

The levity in the room eased, wiping the smile from Spike's face, leaving a frown on Buffy's.  "Cort was right," the Slayer finally said.  "Without answers, we're running blind here.  We need to find some way to stop these…Soul Eaters without having to make any more sacrifices.  I'm not prepared to lose anyone else over this."  This was as close as she could let herself broach the subject of her mother's death at the moment.  They had to move on, Buffy knew that, but she also couldn't forget that this new threat was the reason Joyce had been stripped from their lives.  And she wanted revenge for that.

"Did you have any more dreams about them?"

A guilty look passed between the vampire and Slayer, and Dawn swore she saw a flush creep into her sister's cheeks.  "No," Buffy said.  "Just…regular-type dreams.  The…restful kind."

Somehow, she thought there was more than was being said, but from the wicked gleam in Spike's eye, Dawn suspected it was probably of the she's-too-young-for-that-kind-of-talk talk, and instead crossed to the stack of books.  "I guess we better get cracking then," she said, and then grimaced as she glanced at the first page.  "Are any of these actually in English?"

*************

His reach for her was automatic, hand curling around her hip as he pulled her back into his, burying his nose in the white hair that spilled over her shoulder without even opening his eyes.  His dreams had been troubled, images of Cortina being flayed by the Council while he was bound at the side, helpless to do anything but watch as Quentin Travers slowly peeled her skin from her flesh and fed it to a wraith-like creature chained at his feet.  More than once, Giles had woken just to reassure himself that she was still there, laying his hand over her pulse point to feel her heartbeat tattoo against his fingerpads in a gentle reminder that she still lived and breathed, before allowing himself to drift back into slumber.

He couldn't lose her.  Even if the impediments to their relationship seemed insurmountable…even if everything she embodied was indicative of the forces he'd been battling for the last twenty years…even if it hurt sometimes to look into those pale blue eyes and see himself reflected back…Giles knew her absence from his life would be worse, would create an ache that would echo in every aspect of his existence.

And so he would fight.  Together, they would find whatever answers were necessary to protect Buffy and Spike, and in the process, do what they could to keep her safe from the Council's clutches.  What would happen afterward, he had no idea.  That was a matter to consider when the current catastrophe was averted, when they were through with the fighting.

Now, however, he wished to sleep.

She heard him stir and sighed, letting her eyes return to the book she had cradled in her arm.  She had been up for hours, unable to let loose the fetters of her thoughts, and so had finally risen, returning to the bed she shared with Rupert with the first of many books she would read that day, searching for answers she was convinced they weren't going to find.  Cortina knew these texts, believed they hid no truths that she didn't already know, and yet, she would read them through, searching for the keys to unlock their predicament.  Because Rupert _did_ believe, was a staunch supporter in the power of information, and for that, she would stand at his side.

"Well, aren't you just too cute for words," she heard from behind her, and glanced over her shoulder to see a diaphanous Dolly hovering at the foot of the bed.

"Shhh," Cortina whispered.  "You'll wake Rupert."

"Rupert's already awake," he grumbled, letting her loose to reach behind him for his glasses.  So much for more sleep.  "Hello, Dolly."

She couldn't help the giggle that bubbled from her throat as she glanced back at the Englishman, wondering if he realized what he'd just said, the urge to break out into song suddenly too inappropriate for the moment.  Instead, she focused on her friend, sliding herself up and setting the book aside.  "I'd say it's so nice to have you back where you belong," she quipped with a sly glance toward the man at her side, "but I have a feeling I might get scolded for being too silly this early in the morning."

"Only if you tell her she's looking swell," he said dryly, and slid his spectacles onto his nose.  He immediately frowned.  "Oh," he commented, gazing at the green demon.  "You haven't fully materialized.  I thought it was just my eyes."

"I stopped by because you've got a problem on your hands," Dolly said.

"Well, yes, we're aware of our problems, thank you.  Soul Eaters, the Council chasing Cortina---."

"More than that.  Your Council's playing hardball.  They snatched the two little witches from Cort's caves."

Giles stiffened, senses alert, while at his side, Cortina rolled her eyes.  Great, she thought.  Yet another complication.  Gotta give them credit for having balls, though.  Kidnapping Spike, kidnapping her best friends.  They must not be too interested in staying on the Slayer's good side if they were willing to go to such lengths just to protect her.

"How do you know this?" the Watcher asked.

Dolly shrugged.  "Gave the caves a little drive-by, thought I'd see how they were doing."  At Cortina's amused gaze, she bristled.  "You've really got to take better care of your pets, you know.  One of these days, I'm not going to be around to save them from certain squashdom."

"You didn't exactly save them this time---," Giles started, only to stop when Cortina squeezed his arm.

"Thank you for stopping by and telling us," she said to her friend.  "I don't suppose you know where they took them?"

"Nope.  Just thought you should be informed."  Her form began to fade, and the pair on the bed were just easing back with a heavy sigh when she re-materialized.  "By the way," Dolly added, "just so you know.  The Soul Eaters are on the move again."

That brought Giles back to attention.  "How long before they find Buffy and Spike?"

"No way of telling.  Really depends on whether or not they make any pitstops along the way.  I'd say you've got at least two or three days, though."  She smiled.  "I've got the lovebirds tucked away nice and safe, don't worry."

She left for good this time, leaving Giles and Cortina each lost in his and her thoughts.  "Why would they take Willow and Tara?" he finally mused out loud.

"To lure us back.  They're the bait."  She paused.  "I'm sure they're not in any real danger.  Even Quentin Travers isn't _that stupid."_

"No, I'm sure you're right."  Except he wasn't.  Quentin was already proving to be unpredictable…kidnapping Cortina, kidnapping Spike, now kidnapping Willow and Tara.  He's seen one too many documentaries on the Lindbergh baby, he thought dryly.  He only hoped that the two witches fared better.

*************

"Try again," she asked, blue eyes intent on her girlfriend.

Willow's lids fluttered closed, her breathing slow and even, and the minutes seemed to audibly tick away as Tara waited, her legs tucked underneath her.  "Nope," the redhead finally said, opening her eyes.  "I got exactly nada juice here."

They were sitting on a bed identical to ones they had seen when they'd gone in search of Spike, and there was no doubt in either of their minds where exactly they were, or who exactly had grabbed them.  The Council.  And they were in the same building they'd housed Cortina during their brief interrogation of her.  The why of it wasn't exactly clear at the moment, but the sound of voices in the hallways convinced both of them that it probably wouldn't be long before they were told.  At least, that's what they hoped.

All their attempts to utilize magic to affect an escape had been for naught.  It was just as if Cortina was sitting in the room with them; every time they would attempt to garner the forces necessary to do any type of spell, something---someone?---sucked it all away, leaving them with empty air and increasing frustration.  It's not like they were really scared; in light of the danger that now threatened their friends, it didn't seem so likely that the Council's plans could be any worse.  It was just maddening knowing they could get out if only they had the full use of their powers.

When the knock finally came at the door, neither girl was surprised, and Willow's "Come in," was automatic, blushing as she glanced back at her partner for her silliness.  Two armed men in black entered, their weapons trained on the pair on the bed, and the girls straightened as Quentin Travers came in after them.

He stopped just inside the door.  "If you would come with me, please," he said, not even offering a greeting but turning back on his heel to return to the hall.

The guards waited for the witches to stand and follow after Quentin, frowns puzzling their faces.  "What exactly's going on here?" Willow dared to ask as they trailed after the Council head.  "Why are we being held hostage?  And why won't our magic work?"

"You ask far too many questions, Miss Rosenberg," he replied, never breaking stride.  They turned a corner and he came to a halt in front of a different door.  "How much has Cortina shared with you regarding…the Slayer's current situation?"

They glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes before Willow turned her innocent face to the older man.  "What makes you think she's said anything?" she replied, holding her chin high, her voice just a trifle too loud.  Play it cool, she thought.  Don't let him know that you know how much you know.  God, that sentence hurt just thinking it.

Travers shook his head.  "Come now, Miss Rosenberg.  I have no time for such games.  Rupert and the Slayer would not have fought so bravely against my men if the Vrolek had not made her circumstances very clear.  Now.  This will go much quicker if you cease being evasive and simply answer my question.  Do I need to repeat it?"

There was no point in continuing to pretend.  "She told us about the Soul Eaters and how you want to use her to stop them," Willow said quietly.

"Good.  Then, I don't have to waste my energy explaining it to you."  He paused.  "The children of the wind are already claiming victims in their search for our runaways.  But, perhaps you know this already…"  As his hand gripped the knob, Quentin quietly turned it, pushing it open to expose the room behind it, then stepped back to allow the two witches a clear view.

It was almost empty, but in the center of the room, laid out on a gurney, lay the body of Joyce Summers.

Willow audibly gasped, eyes going wide as saucers, as Tara found her lover's hand and squeezed it tight.  The redhead swiveled her head to stare at the older man.  "_You're_ the ones who took her body?" she demanded.  "Buffy's been totally freaking out about that.  Why would you do something so sick and twisted?"

"Because it might be possible yet to save her," he replied calmly.  "Provided we are able to bind the children of the wind in time."  His smile was tight.  "That is why it is in your best interest to tell me where exactly you hid the Vrolek.  We will forego trying to divert the children by splitting Spike from the Slayer _if_ we can conduct the ritual within the next twenty-four hours.  After that, it will be far too dangerous to leave them together and we will resume our search for the vampire in full earnest."

"But we don't _know_ where they are," Willow stated, her voice rising.  "We're not the ones who took them away."

Though no emotions registered on his face, Travers' silence was testimony to his regret at hearing such a reply.  He had deliberately chosen to have the body sent back to Sunnydale, along with bringing in the pair from England to help contain the witches, on the assurance that once they knew the situation, the Slayer's friends would do everything in their power to help bring her mother back to the world of the living.  Now, though, it appeared that that would not happen.

"That…is…unfortunate," he finally said, and reached past the girls to pull the door closed, his mouth grim.  "I had hoped---."

"But it might be possible to contact who did," Willow rushed.  She waited until he was looking at her to continue.  "It would require us using magic, though."

He shook his head.  "That is not possible."  Quentin looked past them at the two guards.  "Return them to their quarters."  Waiting until they had disappeared back around the corner of the hallway, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as his mind worked over the shambles of a plan he had left before him.  There was an additional party in the mix, someone who knew how to get to both the Vrolek and the Slayer, and now he was left with two ineffective witches, a corpse, and a burden he would rather have left in England.  This was not turning out to be a very good day.

*************

He had thought she would return.  Every other time the redhead had left, she had come back within hours, or at least assured him that she would be there soon.  This time had been different.  She hadn't even said good-bye, which, although her guardianship of him had been brief, was wrong, and the Hound knew it.

Lifting his dark head, Elvis sniffed at the air, her scent trailing on the wind like a beacon calling him home.  He did not understand the pervasive medicinal scent that undercut it, but the aromas of the black-clad men were familiar.  They had been at the end of the trail when he'd been searching for the white one.  That had not been a good situation, and to think that his caretaker was now in their custody filled the Hound with a sense of foreboding.  

Lumbering to his feet, the Hound began his trek across the brightly lit desert, his nose to the ground as he followed the path they had left for him.  Yes, this was the right thing to do.  After everything she had done for him, he owed it to the red-haired witch to go to her aid.  She had, after all, come to his.

To be continued in Chapter 22:  Less Free Than Thou…


	22. Less Free Than Thou

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Willow and Tara have discovered that the Council has Joyce's body, the Hound has gone to rescue his caretaker, and everyone else is working on the research front…

*************

They could've been anywhere---in the Magic Box, the defunct high school library, Spike's crypt.  The fact that they were buried in research in the middle of Club Med for the demon set didn't faze the trio in the least.  Dolly had taken great care to secret them away, arranging for a room with no windows so that the vacationing hordes would be unable to see the Slayer and her entourage, choosing a resort that would cater to their specific human and vampire needs without calling too much attention to themselves, even leaving the supplies necessary should they feel the need to contact her.  Not that she thought she would be able to handle the spell on her own, Buffy thought wryly, as her gaze stole to the leather bag slouched near the door.  But it was nice to have the option.

It almost felt normal, in a weird, alternate-dimension sort of way.  Dawn was teasing Spike, Spike was playing footsie with Buffy under the small table, and the Slayer was having her usual troubles focusing on the texts, wishing instead she could be out somewhere, beating something up to vent her frustrations.  Those were fewer, thanks to their dream conversation and the fact that they'd actually managed to get some real rest from their slumber this time.  No hint of the Soul Eaters, just uninterrupted bliss…talking, and having sex, and more talking, and more sex.  It was only the residual burning sensation between her breasts, the phantom pain that mirrored Spike's, that kept her rooted in the very real here and now.

In his chair opposite, the vampire shifted his weight, wincing slightly as he did so, a small line appearing between his brows as he absentmindedly plucked at the front of his shirt, pulling it just enough away from his skin to ease the friction.

The action didn't go unnoticed by the youngest person present.  "OK, that's it," Dawn announced, setting her book down in front of her with a loud thud.  "Somebody do some spilling, because you're totally flying me over the cuckoo's nest here."

Buffy frowned.  "Spilling about what?"

"About why Spike is in pain.  And don't tell me he's not.  He's been giving off this macho, not going to complain vibe, ever since I walked through the door."  Her eyes shifted between the pair.  "Did something happen that you guys aren't telling me because you're worried about protecting poor little Dawnie?  Because, gotta tell you, it's a little late for that.  I'm on this ride, whether you like it or not, and I'm not getting off until it's run its course."

The vampire's mouth twitched.  _I'll give Bit credit for one thing_, he thought, aiming it directly at Buffy.  _She's a helluva lot more observant than you ever were._

The blonde rolled her eyes.  _Thanks_, she shot back, and sighed.  "It was Spike's dream," she said.  "He's the one who should tell you about it."

"And it's like I said, you don't need to be fussin' over me," he said to Dawn, awkwardly patting her hand in some semblance of reassurance.  "It was just one of those Soul Eaters takin' a shot.  It's done, it's over with, and can we get back to the bloody books, please?"

It wasn't so much his cavalier attitude about the whole thing; Buffy was used to Spike not wanting to dwell too much on his dreams by this point.  It was the wall that immediately sprang up around his thoughts as he spoke to her younger sister, the scurrying she could almost see him doing to avoid addressing the issue in any depth.  _What's going on? she shot at him, and was grimly satisfied to see him unable to meet her eyes._

_Nothing.__  It's nothing.  It's like I said.  Don't fuss._

_Don't make me dig on this.  Please, Spike.  If it's something to do with these ghost things, the more information we have the better.  God, I'm sounding like Giles.  See what you do to me?_

In spite of his reluctance to talk about it, Spike couldn't help the smile that curved his lips.  "Is this what it's going to be like when we get back to SunnyD?" he asked out loud, shaking his head.  "You two playing tag team in order to get to me?"

Dawn's eyes went wide.  "Is she think-talking at you again?" she quizzed.  She faced off with her sister.  "I thought you said you weren't going to do that in front of me.  It's too weird."

"Try being on this end of it," Buffy replied.  "C'mon, Spike.  Tell us what happened.  Why are you trying to hide on this?"

She wasn't going to give.  He didn't need to be able to read her mind to suss that one out.  With a twist of his neck to relieve the tension that had suddenly sprung there, Spike leaned heavily back into his chair, lifting his arms to entwine his fingers behind his head.  "First off, the fuckin' bitch talks too much," he growled to start.

"I sincerely hope you're referring to the Soul Eater," Buffy said calmly.

"The Soul Eater's a woman?" asked Dawn.  Why hadn't anyone told her this little tidbit already?

"In my dreams, she is," Spike explained.  "And when she showed her face in Buffy's dream, too.  But my money's on that that's just a convenient form for it to take.  'Cause that's how it gets to us the most."

The Slayer's face was somber.  "It talked to you."  She refused to call it "she."  She wasn't giving it the satisfaction.  "What did it say?"

"I told you some of it already.  She got good and pissed when I said you were goin' to kick her ass."  He grinned, the image of Buffy in the middle of a melee, all gold and black and power unrestrained, stiffening his cock, darkening his eyes as he regarded her.

Buffy blushed, crossing her legs to stifle the tingle that had sprung to her clit.  "Not that I'm not glad you're just as insufferable in your dreams as you can be in real life, but there's more you're not telling me here.  Us," she corrected hastily as Dawn shot her a dirty look.  "What else got said that's got your head doing its best Great Wall of China impersonation?"

Looking at those grey-green eyes, he could feel her edging around the borders of his mind, trying to coax her way inside without forcing his defenses back up, both soothing him with her presence and scaring the shit out of him by making him realize he wasn't going to be able to protect her from this.  In all their dream talking, and even in the snippets they'd had before slipping onto their fantasy beach, he'd deliberately refrained from sharing what the creature had said for fear of alerting Buffy's Slayer instincts even more.  Now, though, it was time to stop hiding, and face whatever wrath his partner was going to wreak when she found out the truth.

"You're not their primary target," Spike finally said.  His voice was low, his blue eyes steady on her face, watching the emotions there settle into confusion.

"What's that?"

"She called you dessert," he said a little louder.  "Not that that isn't a delightful image, but apparently, the one they're really after is me."  His lips curled into a mocking sneer.  "This is one time I wish I wasn't so damn appealing," he joked derisively.  

"But…at the house…"  She could still feel the cold fingers winding around her legs, smell the sticky sweetness in the air.  "The Council thinks I'm the one who's most at threat here.  Cortina said."

Spike snorted.  "Travers is a tosser, who's managed to throw a spanner in the works at every turn he's taken," he said.  "You think he's got any real clue what these Soul Eaters want?  Something tells me he's not exactly been included on the invite list when they made up their little plan of attack.  He probably knows just enough to get himself worked up into a lather and make the rest of us all run willy-nilly after our own tails, because we don't have the full story."  He straightened, leaning forward to talk directly to Buffy.  "I may not like what the bitch was saying, but damn if I don't believe every word that comes out of her mouth."

The anger and fear rolled off him in waves, but undercutting all of it was a sense of…awe?  frustration?...could that really be it?  Buffy frowned, probing at his thoughts as gently as he could, silently irritated when they refused to give beneath her touch.  "Why is that?" she asked quietly.  "You've said before it's taking a form that gets to you.  Who are you talking to when it visits you, Spike?"

He'd known she was going to ask, knew that his time for running from this confrontation had officially expired even as he'd settled into discussing it.  Unbidden, the face floated before his inner eye, the blue eyes glittering from some ravenous hunger, the angles of her cheeks softened by the light brown hair curling gently against her skin, and he ducked his own gaze, concentrating on the worn spine of the book on the table, feeling the well of tears sting as they threatened to spill.

"Not that it makes a lick of difference in why I believe her," he said, and there was the faintest of tremors in his voice as he spoke.  "But the bloody bitch always comes a-callin' looking exactly like my mum."

*************

He was oblivious to seeming out of place as he prowled around the building, his red eyes staring, scrutinizing, contemplating what exactly his next move was going to be.  She was inside, and the scent of her fear hung in the air, palpable even through the concrete walls, raising his hackles in anger.  That same medicinal current lay beneath the aromas that now filled his nostrils, and though he could sense no blood, it didn't stop the Hound from battling the fear that something dire had happened to his caretaker.  He just wished he knew what to do next.

Sometimes, being a six-foot hellhound was not necessarily a good thing.  For instance, though it might prove handy being so large and powerful while in a fight, when it came to traversing paths meant for humans---specifically, doorways and corridors---Elvis was at a severe disadvantage, his options limited.  The red-haired witch was inside, and he was out, and each and every entrance to the prison that held her carried with it the danger of being confronted by one of the many men who also remained within.  With his mobility impaired, he needed to ensure his path was as clear as possible before negotiating it.  He had no doubt he could effectively contend with a few humans; it was the possibility of that few becoming a multitude that he feared.

That was when he saw them, the double doors almost completely hidden by the bushes lining the road leading down to them.  They were loading doors, although he knew not the name for them; the Hound's primary thought was that not only were they open, but they were also extra-wide and extra-tall, affording him plenty of space to move and fight, should the occasion arise.

A quick sniff at the air and he knew it was relatively deserted, a single man just on the inside.  More would come, of that he was sure, and so his time to strike was now, while he could claim the advantage.  And with his silent tread, Elvis crept toward the entrance.

*************

There were supplies from England that were to be arriving any moment, but Travers' mind was elsewhere, mulling over the circumstances surrounding the Slayer and her friends.  Perhaps he'd been too hasty in denying Willow's suggestion of contacting the person who'd removed Buffy from their reaches.  So far, all the attempts by the seers in London to locate the missing parties had been futile, and the stresses along the Hellmouth were growing, the need to bind the Soul Eaters more urgent if they were going to be able to restore Joyce Summers to life.  He couldn't help but believe that if Buffy knew the true circumstances regarding her mother's situation, she would be the first person to hand over the Vrolek.  After all, Cortina was just a demon, and part of the Slayer's duty was to protect the world from such.

Doing the spell to contact this outside party, however, would mean relocating the witches, and at this point in time, Quentin was unsure as to the wisdom in that. Here, they were powerless.  Move them, and they could very well slip from his fingers.

When the telephone in front of him began to ring, he almost didn't want to answer it, rubbing tiredly at his eyes as he sighed heavily.  Sometimes, he wished he wasn't the ultimate authority, that there was someone else who could shoulder some of the burden he carried.  Now, though, it was not the time for having sundry dreams that were entirely made in the clouds.

"Yes?" he said into the receiver, his voice weary.

"Sir, there's a problem down in the loading docks.  I think you should come at once."

*************

Both of them had been silent for minutes, the image of Joyce Summers still hovering between them like…well, like a ghost.  Willow grimaced.  Creepy, and ooky, and did the Council really think they could bring her back from the dead when she didn't have a soul anymore?  That was powerful magic.  Even she knew that you didn't mess around with that kind of thing.  People inevitably came back wrong.  But still, why would they go to the bother if they weren't sure it couldn't be done?  Travers even suggested some kind of window of opportunity, which leant his story a certain credence that the redhead was finding it difficult to ignore.  

It wasn't that she didn't believe him.  She'd loved Joyce, saw her as a second mom, and one of the hardest things Willow had ever had to do was watch her best friend suffer when she discovered her dead.  If it was possible to bring her back, to restore to Buffy what had been stolen from her, the young witch would've been first in line to try.  She just didn't see how it could be done.

"Maybe it's not our choice to make," Tara said softly, the first words she'd spoken since they'd returned to their room.  "Maybe we need to stop considering the what ifs and just focus on getting out of here."

"You're right," Willow sighed, leaning into the gentle touch her lover extended.  "I know you're right.  I was just, you know, in the whole contemplative place of my brain, the one where even the craziest ideas sound like they should work and not go kaplooie in my face."  She smiled wanly.  "I think you'd be surprised how much time I actually spend in there."

"Why do you think our magic isn't working?"

Willow shook her head.  "I'd say it feels like a dampening field, but I just don't know how---."  A thundering crash out in the hallway startled both of them, choking the words in the redhead's throat as they jumped from the bed.

"W-w-what was that?" Tara asked.

Muffled shouts turned into a tortured scream, and the pair shrank away from the door as the walls seemed to shake, grasping hands as they backed into the far corner.  The scream burbled into silence, and the two girls just stared at the door, eyes wide, waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop.

What dropped was the door.  With a thunderous crash, it collapsed inward, shards of wood splintering through the air, and the girls shrieked, ducking their heads as they hid from whatever was entering.

His whine was the last thing she expected to hear.  Peeking through her fingers, Willow's green eyes went wide as she saw the hulking form of the Hound in the doorway, his red eyes fixed on them, tongue lolling as he slowly panted, waiting for them to see him.

"Elvis!" she cried out, breaking free from her girlfriend to rush to the dog's side.  Immediately, Tara joined her, two sets of arms and lips cuddling and kissing the canine's black fur.  "Such a good puppy," Willow crooned, the relief that they were going to get out of the Council's clutches after all suffusing her body.  "Somebody's getting a huge Scooby treat when we get back…"  Her voice dwindled to nothing as she saw the bloody corpses of the two guards who'd been watching them strewn through the hall, and her smile slowly faded.

Tara followed her gaze, and paled.  "Oops," she joked, trying to make light of the carnage.

The redhead set her lips and held up a warning finger to the dog.  "Not so good, puppy," she warned.  "What've I told you about eating people, huh?  Repeat after me.  People are _not finger food."  The only reply was another whine, and Elvis' tongue slowly licked the hand she held up to him._

"I think he's glad to see you," Tara said.

Willow's resolve face melted.  How could she stay mad at him when he'd just risked everything to come to their rescue?  Of course, they still had to get out of the building in one piece, but now they had a six-foot hellhound on their side.  The odds were definitely looking up.  "Well," she said reluctantly, and playfully scratched under Elvis' chin.  "I think maybe this one time we might be able to do the overlooking thing."

"What about the escaping thing?  Think we can give that one a go?"

"No maybe there.  Let's get out of here."

The two witches eased their way past the Hound, looking up and down the hallway, trying to discern their bearings.  Outside of the scarlet stains that now marred the floor, each way looked the same, and they hesitated, brows furrowed while they debated which direction to take.  

Elvis made the decision for them, loping off to the right, the girls right on his heels.  When he began bounding up stairs, Tara and Willow exchanged a surprised look.

"Did you teach him that trick?" the blonde teased gently.

"No, but I'm going to remember to thank whoever did."

One flight, two…the numbers began to blur as they raced.  They could hear the faraway shouts as the Council's men were alerted to the escape, but chose to ignore it, concentrating instead on following the Hound to safety.

He stopped at seven floors, his head tilting as he seemed to be listening, then giving the air a distinct sniff.  Immediately, Willow was at his side, rubbing his head.  "What is it, puppy?" she asked.  "You smell something interesting?"

Elvis hesitated only a moment longer then ambled a few feet forward, stopping at a closed door, nudging at the knob with his nose.

"You don't think they got Spike or Cortina again, do you?" Tara asked as the redhead's hand closed around the knob.

"I don't think so," she replied.  "But he wants us to see whatever's in there so we better at least look."

The room was in darkness when she pushed the door open, and Willow fumbled along the jamb, feeling for the switch.  When she turned it on, though, her heart stopped, her green eyes wide, and she audibly swallowed as she stood rooted in her spot.

"How many dead people does the Council have around here?" she whispered.

At her shoulder, Tara's face was equally pale, her gaze fixed on the center of the room.  "Willow…I don't think they're dead."

Two beds.  The shine of magic surrounding them.  And lying inert in each, two small Vroleks, one girl, one boy, eyes closed, chests just barely moving…

To be continued in Chapter 23: And Saw in Sleep…


	23. And Saw in Sleep

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Spike has told Dawn and Buffy that the Soul Eater is taking the form of his mother in his dreams, while the Hound has arrived to rescue Willow and Tara, only for them to find two Vrolek children being held in the same building they were…

*************

She didn't understand why there hadn't been any guards on the door.  As security-aware as Travers seemed to be, the least she would've expected was someone watching to make sure the Vroleks were confined.  Well, big fat duh, Willow thought, her feet unconsciously leading her to the edge of the beds.  No reason to guard what isn't really going anywhere.

And they weren't.  Though they appeared to be dead, the slight rise and fall in their chests betrayed the life that still slept somewhere in the two small bodies of the demons, white hair spilling to the mattresses, hands laid gently at their sides.  If pressed, Willow would've put their ages at around ten, the female slightly older, the delicate curve of young breasts just beginning to thrust beneath the white robe she wore.  Their skin was just as colorless, and if they'd been able to open their eyes, she wouldn't have been surprised to see the same pale blue that reflected from Cortina's aspect.

Slowly, Willow's hand lifted, fingertips grazing the magical field that surrounded the pair, a shower of silvery sparks sifting harmlessly over her skin.  "How is this possible?" she breathed, her voice full of wonder.  "They're Vroleks.  This isn't supposed to happen."

Just behind her, Tara pointed toward the only spot of color on the pallor before them.  "It might have something to do with that," she said, just as quietly.

The redhead's gaze slid from the faces in repose to the small dais that was situated between them, and the crystal that set on top of it.  It glowed from an inner sapphire light, fading to white as the energy that seeped from it reached to spread and surround the two beds.  "They found a way to counter their natural defenses," she said.

"Maybe not counter.  After all, we still can't use _our_ magic.  But maybe…it's like taking advantage of a blind spot or something."

"It would explain how they were able to do whatever ritual they need to bind the Soul Eaters," Willow said.  "Cortina didn't know the details when she told us what they did to her chil…"  She couldn't even finish the word, the connection finally making itself clear in her head.  "You don't…think…"  Her eyes finally tore away from the demons to stare at her girlfriend.  "These couldn't be Cortina's, could they?"

"That was over a hundred years ago.  Wouldn't they have aged?"

There was no time for Willow to respond.  A sharp bark from Elvis behind them distracted them from the two Vroleks, turning their heads as they heard the distant shouts of men begin to grow louder.  "We'll think about it later," the redhead said.  "After we get out of here."

All thoughts of the demons they'd discovered vanished as the witches returned to the hall and raced for the door at its end, the Hound on their heels.  They recognized the exit now, but blinked when they stepped out into the sunshine, the sudden illumination blinding in contrast to the dimly lit hallways.  More shouting from behind them, and Tara's head whipped around to see a group of armed men barreling down the hall, their boots resounding against the floor.

"Get on Elvis!" Willow instructed sharply, leaning in to speak softly into the Hound's ear.

Tara watched as the dog bowed to its front knees, lowering his head to allow them to climb on, and grabbed her girlfriend's arm to steady herself as she clambered aboard.  As she felt the animal's powerful muscles flex beneath her, springing away from the building to begin running down the sidewalk, she clung to Willow, leaning against her for support.  "Why do I feel like shouting, 'Hi ho, Silver, away!'?" she yelled into the redhead's ear.

"You can shout whatever you want as soon as we get to the Magic Box," Willow cried back.  "Just don't fall off."

*************

In spite of the wall that barricaded Spike's thoughts, Buffy could feel the raw emotion seeping through the imaginary stones…the anxiety that edged his nerves, an underlying love tempering them in reluctance, but most of all, a surprising fear that seemed to tint his thoughts in orange flames.  It struck her that in the time they had been joined since the cleansing, in spite of being privy to all his other memories, not once had the specter of his mother arisen, even when they'd been forced to confront the issue of Joyce.  That would've been expected, she realized.  To think of his own mom when she had lost hers.  And yet…

But he'd said when they'd first arrived that there was a part of his head that was locked away from her, that the Soul Eater was the only one to see.  Knowing now that it was taking the form of his human mother made it logical that that aspect of his history was hidden from her for some reason.  Why, though, she couldn't even begin to imagine.

"What does she say to you?" Dawn was asking, her young face pensive.  

Spike shrugged.  "Just the usual bollocks," he dismissed with a wave of his hand.  "Nothin' worth repeatin'.  Nothin' I haven't already done the show and tell with, at least."

"But it picks that form for a reason.  You said that yourself."  She didn't want to press him.  Buffy could feel his nerves skittering like roaches fleeing from sudden light, and knew that even the mention of this subject was making him incredibly jumpy.  But they needed answers.  And it looked like he was the one who had them.

"Yeah," Dawn agreed.  "Did you have issues with her when you were still human?  Is that why it can hurt you?"

"No."  His denial bordered on the vehement, and he rose to his feet, stalking the length of the room behind his chair.  "Me and my mum…were just fine when…there weren't any problems, all right?"

"It's OK.  Relax---."

"Then let this go.  What happened when I was one of you has got bugger all to do with what's goin' on in my dreams."  His jaw was clenched, the muscles working in his cheek, and he refused to meet either set of eyes watching him pace.  Spike could feel Buffy tiptoeing around inside his head, trying to get past the wall that had sprung there of its own accord and unconsciously, he summoned a remembered image, a particularly vicious kill from those days when he'd been all about proving himself to Angelus, and let her feel the demon's pleasure that had suffused his body at the time.

It was a tactic of desperation, not one he would've deliberately have chosen in other circumstances, but it did the trick, startling the Slayer into stiffening in her chair, her mind retreating from his like a kicked puppy.  The shock in her hazel eyes faded into a hesitant hurt, and she quickly ducked her head, locking her jaw and closing off her mind so that he couldn't do it again.

Dawn's eyes flickered between the two.  Though she wasn't privy to the thought sharing, she was far from blind, and something was definitely going on.  We were doing so well, she thought sadly.  Can't these two go five minutes without something blowing up between them?

"Then tell us why it's messing with you, Spike."  Buffy's voice was tight.  "Why, all of a sudden, is it hurting you?"  _Please, she asked silently.  __Let us in so that we can help._

He felt like an ass for doing what he'd done, and rubbed wearily at his face, a mute apology stretching to caress the ache in the young blonde's heart as he did so.  "It's not all of a sudden," he confessed.  "It's been doin' this sort of rubbish all along."

"But I haven't seen anything.  No marks, no bruises, not even a scrape.  You don't heal _that quickly."_

"OK, time out here."  Dawn held up her hands in a t-shaped referee position.  "Back up.  It's _hurting_ Spike?  I thought it was just in his head, a dreamland kind of thing."

His eyes met Buffy's---_show her---and carefully, the vampire grasped the bottom hem of his tee and pulled it over his head, revealing the still angry burn mark emblazoned at the center of his chest._

Dawn gasped, jumping immediately from her chair to cross to him, her fingers reaching out to touch but hesitating, hovering just above his skin.  It was healing, but slowly, crimson and violet streaks where the Soul Eater had reached in and squeezed, the tight drawing of the skin around it evidence of the curative process taking its time to restore the flesh to its natural smooth finish.  "Does it hurt?" she asked, although she already knew the answer to that.

"Like a bitch," he admitted.  His proud smile took them both off-guard.  "Pissed her off good, I did."

"Needless to say, definitely one of your stronger abilities," Buffy teased gently.  The wall was still there, but his regret at lashing out had eased some of her distress, his reluctant willingness to expose even this much to Dawn---knowing how much he felt she needed to be protected---enough to garner her respect.  Seeing the evidence of what he was enduring at the hands of this new threat, too, was working to lessen her anger at him, replacing it instead with an overwhelming desire for blood.  She felt his gentle remonstrations inside her skull---_not now_---and inhaled deeply, quelling the rising hunger for violence in a shaky balm.

"And a Soul Eater did this?"  The teenager's voice was disbelieving, her blue eyes searching his for any indication that he might be holding back on her.  When he nodded, she shook her head in counterpoint.  "That's not possible.  They're non-corporeal.  How many times did I have to hear Giles and Cortina beat _that_ point to death?"

"I think this proves that at least in Spike's dreams, they're more of the solid non-corporeal type of demons," Buffy argued.

"Did it do this before?" Dawn asked the vampire.

"First time," he replied, shaking his head.  "Must've made her really brassed off for it to happen."

"Plus it was getting near," the dark-haired girl ruminated.  "That's why we had to leave so fast, right?  Because they were closing in on you two?"  There was no need for an answer from the others.  Her musings were more rhetorical than anything else, her attention riveted by the wound on the demon before her.  They stood there in silence for a full minute before Buffy finally spoke up.

"What is it?" she demanded of her sister.  "What's going through that hormone-driven head of yours?"  What she wouldn't give for a second to read _that_ brain, she thought in frustration, and then decided, maybe not.  I'd probably be overwhelmed in images of boy bands and Clearasil.  Been there, got the t-shirt.

"It's just…"  Dawn lifted her gaze, a hint of self-satisfaction flickering across her face.  "I'm thinking…if this demon can manifest itself into something solid so that it can attack Spike…doesn't that mean it can then be killed?"

The simplicity of the logic hit both of them.  Cortina's argument---_can't kill what you can't touch_---was moot now, the possibility of ending this once and for all a specter looming before them.  Almost immediately, both their minds swirled into a flurry of activity---_get my bloody hands on that bitch…do it together…just need to sleep…need to be closer---bouncing and ricocheting off the other in a frenzy that contrasted with the utter stillness of their bodies._

In the midst of it all, though, one thought became crystal clear.  "We need Giles," Buffy said firmly, standing up and heading for the bag by the door.

"Think Cort's goin' to be pleased as punch she's not goin' to be needed in this particular business," Spike agreed, and knelt at her side as they began extracting the supplies necessary to contact Dolly.

*************

To be honest, the last thing she expected to see was the bright red head of one of Cort's pet witches.

"You're back!" Dolly exclaimed in shocked surprise, hovering in a diaphanous cloud above the floor, and then frowned, eyes glancing around to see the dim room, the punching bag, the wall of weapons near the door.  "Wait," she said.  "This isn't back.  This is---."

"Giles' shop," Willow explained, and hopped to her feet.  "The Magic Box."

"You haven't been here the whole time?" the green demon asked suspiciously.  "Because I told Cort---."  The low growl from behind her cut her off, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Elvis hovering in the entrance to the alleyway, tiny eyes narrowed as his hackles raised at Dolly's presence.  "Oh, hush up," she scolded the canine, batting at it with a wave of her hand.  "What are you going to take bite out of?  Air?"

"It's OK," the redhead soothed to the Hound.  She glanced back at the frowning demon.  "He's a little protective of me.  Which is probably a good thing because he's the reason Tara and I were able to pull our great escape from the Council."

Her discomfort eased.  "So, they did grab you," she snorted.  "I figured as much.  But if you just called me here so that I could tell Cort, you're too late.  I already filled her in.  But I can pop back there and tell her you two are safe now---."

"Wait!"  Willow watched as the form that had been fading returned to its half-solid form.  "I was hoping we might be able to fix up a meeting.  Us, Giles and Cortina, Buffy and Spike.  We've…found some stuff out that we think is going to…change things."  She didn't want to bring up the issue of the two Vroleks they'd found just yet.  She had to find out from the white demon if she'd ever actually _seen_ their dead bodies before broaching the possibility that they could somehow still be alive.  Willow didn't want to be responsible for getting up hopes, only to watch them go crashing to the ground.

"Change as in fix?  Or change as in make worse?"

She bit at her lip.  "The jury's still out on that one just yet," the witch admitted.  "But definitely change."

*************

Each in the room sat in stunned silence, lost in the tumult the new information on the table now presented.

For Giles, a guilty sense of regret masked his disgust for the organization he'd applied his allegiance to for so many years.  The Council's methods had never seemed dubious to him prior to his involvement with his own Slayer; now, in the wake of seeing how those somewhat arbitrary decisions affected people he sincerely cared for and loved, he was being forced to re-evaluate the dedication he'd given them, his own dealings with their machinations.

For Cortina, every thought was colored in scarlet, fury with the Council for lying to her for so many years about the death of her children and anger with herself for never confirming it with her own two eyes.  That decade-plus of destruction could've been avoided if she'd only pushed further, hunted for the truth.  But no.  She had relied upon what had seemed like reliable witnesses, and paid the consequences by wasting a century without her family.  She had no doubt that the Vroleks they held were hers; their eternal youth could be explained away by whatever magical stasis the Council had placed them in.  And more than anything else, she wanted them back.

For Spike, it was a light at the end of the tunnel.  Dawn's revelation had presented him with the key necessary to rid himself and Buffy of the Soul Eater threat, and though his heart ached with his lover's at the Council's duplicity in dealing with Joyce, his relief that his own torture would soon be over was more prevalent.  Perhaps it was his own weariness in facing the events from over a century previous; perhaps it was his revolt against the more human characteristics he'd seemed to acquire since the cleansing.  Regardless, the vampire was itching to rid himself of the ghost of his mother, of the memories seeing her invoked, once and for all.

It was worst for Buffy.  Willow's story both horrified her and offered hope, the knowledge that the Council would steal her mother's corpse on the off-chance of returning her to life comforting in a weird sort of way.  Maybe they were only interested in helping her, even if they showed some sick ways of showing it.  Kidnapping her friends and her lover did not rate highly with her.  Still, Cortina said it wasn't possible, that death by the Soul Eaters was permanent.  But she'd been wrong about her children and the use of magic, a small voice inside the Slayer's head argued, so maybe she's wrong about this as well.  Buffy didn't want to wish that things could return to the way they were before, only to have her heart broken again, but even the possibility that she _could_ was too alluring to ignore.

As she lifted her eyes to look over her friends, Buffy felt Spike's love wrap around her thoughts, reminding her yet again why this was all worth it, and used the strength it offered to meet a level gaze with Cortina.  The words passed unspoken between the two, and finally the Vrolek gave her a short, sharp nod.

"It's the only way," she said, her control unable to keep the anger from honing her voice.

Giles frowned.  "What's the only way?" he asked.

"I want this done," Buffy said.  "And in order to do that, we need the cards on the table, face up, no more surprises."  Her mouth was grim as she looked at her Watcher.  "Let's see how Quentin Travers likes being on the kidnapped side of things for a change…"

To be continued in Chapter 24: The Winged Seeds…


	24. The Winged Seeds

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy has decided to take the bull by the horns and get the answers they need by getting their hands on the man who seems to have them…Quentin Travers…

*************

He was beginning to wonder why he was bothering.  At every turn, Buffy Summers and her friends were making it nigh on impossible for him to help her, thwarting his attempts to divert the Soul Eaters' attention from her by separating her from Spike, rescuing Cortina though she was necessary for binding the children of the wind from harming anyone further, and somehow, snatching back the witches from his custody without even showing her face.  

Though he hadn't seen the Hound himself, Quentin had seen the carnage the beast had left behind, a trail of broken bodies littering the halls of what he'd considered his fortress left as haphazardly as a path of bread crumbs for him to follow.  A path that led straight to the witches' bedroom door.  A room that was now empty.  There was no sign of the beast's own blood, and from viewing the various security tapes, it was obvious the animal had avoided all his men's attacks, taking the way of least resistance, only attacking when absolutely necessary.  Under other circumstances, Travers would have been appropriately intrigued by the Hound's process, but now, with Buffy still missing, Cortina not in hand, and no bargaining chips with the Slayer's friends, he was not in the mood for further analysis.

There was more, of course.  Much more.  His pale eyes stared at the video screen in front of him, watching as Willow and Tara walked into the room housing the two Vroleks, the audio muted so that he was unable to hear their conversation.  Listening was unnecessary; simple reasoning could deduce that they knew now how their magic was being hampered, and the shocked recognition on their young faces was enough to clue him in that Cortina had told them more about her history than he had anticipated.  Hitting the rewind button, he watched again and again as the redhead lifted her hand to touch the magical barrier that sheathed the Vrolek children in their stasis, the other's finger pointing out the dais at the center.  The only thing that currently offered Quentin any kind of relief was the knowledge that they had been interrupted before they could investigate it any further.

That, and the fact that he still held Joyce Summers' body.  

It was his last card to play.  Though they had escaped his control, Willow and Tara carried with them the information that there was a way to save the Slayer's mother, information he didn't doubt they would share at their earliest convenience.  The only thing he could hope for at this point---until someone came up with yet another plan that was sure to fail, he thought dismally---was that the prospect of having Joyce restored to life was too tempting for Buffy to resist, that she would come to him herself with Cortina in tow as an exchange for life as normal.  She would even get to keep her vampire lover that way.  All it would cost her was the price of one single Vrolek.

So intent was he on watching the playback of the witches' escape, Quentin missed the blonde head suddenly appear on a far screen, standing with folded arms addressing an agape young man at the front of the building.  When the man on the monitor raised his weapon, the blonde's dash forward was Slayer-quick, disarming him with a swift kick before sending him sprawling to the ground.  She reached down and pulled the cell phone from his waistband, her booted foot keeping him pressed to the earth by sitting between his shoulder blades, barking out an unheard query before letting her fingers fly over the number pad.

The phone rang at Travers' side and he automatically picked it up, his gaze never straying from the picture of the witches and the Vroleks.  "Yes?" he said, clearly annoyed at being disturbed.

"Not even a hi-how-are-you?"  Buffy's tsk through the phone line immediately caused Quentin to straighten.  "And here I thought you'd be glad to hear from me."

"Miss. Summers."  The calmness of his tone was in direct opposite to his racing emotions.  Finally.  Something was going his way.  "I won't even presume to wonder how you got this number."

"Funny you should ask.  You've really got to do some serious training on your bodyguards, Q.  Oh, you don't mind if I call you Q, do you?  Because Quentin is just _soooo_ British, and, well, you haven't done anything to deserve me being all respectful by calling you Mr. Travers any more, now have you?"  This last was brittle, her voice hardening, and in the monitor, she shoved roughly down at the man who was trying to rise beneath her foot.

At the mention of his guard, Quentin's gaze scanned the screens until it settled on the camera for outside, his lips thin as he watched the Slayer.  She was alone.  But here.  That was a good thing.  Though he'd like to believe that she'd finally understood they were only trying to protect her, that her best interests were all that mattered to them currently, the brisk set of her shoulders told him otherwise.  "I don't see your friends," he commented, leaning back in his chair.  "Surely you didn't come alone."  He almost chuckled as her blonde head immediately began turning, looking for the camera she suddenly realized was there, and then smiled as she lifted her eyes to look directly into it.

"I know you have my mother."  She was ignoring his observation, ready to get down to business.  "I've come to talk about what exactly is going on."

"So…talk."

Another shove of her foot and Quentin winced as he saw his guard's head smack against the pavement.  "This really deserves a face to face, don't you think?" she asked.  "And since I can't see yours…"  Her head tilted, and he believed he could even see the gleam of anger in her eyes through the grainy picture on the monitor.  "Not that I'm really thrilled with your back-stabbing, friend-snatching, secret-keeping, smug face right now, but at least if you're in front of me, I can see firsthand what you're up to."

He didn't even hear the disgust in her voice as the glee suddenly jumped to his throat.  Yes.  The Slayer back in custody.  Under his control.  Safe.  "If you will just wait there, Miss Summers, I will have some of my men come out and escort you inside."

"I don't think so.  Why don't we have ourselves a little picnic out here?"  She looked up at the sky.  "It's a beautiful day.  No soul-eating demons wreaking havoc with the weatherman's reports.  I say we enjoy it while it lasts."

"Forgive me if I pass."  He paused, considering his next move.  He needed her inside, where his power was incontrovertible.  Did it matter how she got in as long as she did?  "Perhaps we could meet half way?  Just you and I."  He smiled, even though she couldn't see it.  "To talk about your mother."

The mention of Joyce made her eyes jump back to the camera, and there was a long moment of silence as Buffy just watched him.  It was disconcerting.  Though he knew she couldn't really see him, those hazel eyes seemed to bore into his, like she knew what he was planning, and Quentin began to squirm in his seat.

"Fine," she finally said.  "I'll stay on the line.  You direct me in, but first sign of one of your guys and I'm out of there, got it?"

"Of course."  He rose, using the length of the phone cord to step to the room's entrance and open the door, motioning for the guard outside to enter, but placing his finger over his own mouth to indicate the other man should not speak.  "If you enter through the door to your right…"

*************

"She's in."

"Right."  Giles turned away from Willow and the binoculars she was using to gaze at the building across the street to face Dolly and Cortina behind him.  "We don't know how much time---."

"Giles," the redhead interrupted.  "There's something we didn't consider there."

He frowned.  "What?"  Hesitantly, he took the binoculars she offered him, training them on the door Buffy had just disappeared through.  "What am I looking at?"

"Upper left corner.  Near the small window just under the eave."

He saw it immediately and swore under his breath.

"What is it?" Cortina asked.

"Surveillance cameras."  Lowering the binoculars, his brow was creased as he mused out loud.  "They're going to see everything we do in there."

"So take them out," Dolly commented crossly.

"We don't know where they're being controlled, or monitored, or…"  His voice faded.  "I don't suppose…you…could find them," he questioned the green demon.

She straightened, pulling herself up to her full height, and folded her arms across her chest with a smug smile.  "Aren't you glad I'm not the sort of demon to hold a grudge?" she said.

"I don't want you killing anybody," he hastened to clarify.  "Just take out the central station so they can't observe us."

Dolly rolled her eyes.  "Well, that's hardly any fun.  Can I at least knock a few heads together?  I promise not to break any bones, although I won't swear to not jiggling some Council brains."  She bridled under his steady gaze.  "Fine, fine," she said as she began to fade.  "Just give me a sec.  Grumpy humans…"

The long breath Cortina exhaled was shaky as her friend disappeared, prompting Giles to settle his hand gently on her shoulder.  "Are you all right?" he asked quietly, blue eyes probing hers.

"Can you believe I'm nervous?"  She held up a hand and both of them watched as it visibly vibrated in the shade the building was providing her.  Her anger had long ago dissipated in the advent of their plan, but now, she was finding it difficult to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.  What if it really was them?  What would that mean for her, for her future, for _their_ future?  Would it be possible to begin a fresh life?  And where was Rupert going to figure into it if that happened?

 His lips brushed against her forehead, at once both calming and electrifying.  "Everything will be all right," he assured.  "Would you rather I---?"

Cortina shook her head, using the caress as a lifejacket, clinging to its strength as she straightened her shoulders.  "No, it has to be me.  I'm the only one who will know for sure if it's them."

"Hopefully you can tell me what the crystal is," Willow said, trying for optimism but failing in the serious aspects of her two companions.

"Yes, well…"  Giles didn't like this part of the plan.  Though he agreed with the others that their priorities rested in ridding the Council of the hostages it continued to house, the witches' description of the field that bound the two Vroleks did not bode well.  As much as he hoped that these were actually Cortina's children, the fact that they _could be held so meant that there was more to their demon physiology than they were aware, secrets that Quentin Travers obviously held and he could only hope that Buffy would extract before they were forced to flee the premises.  _

In the meantime, he had to do his best to ensure everything ran smooth.  Dawn and Spike were safely ensconced back in their rooms, the vampire a liability in the face of both sunlight and humans and the teenager too headstrong to be predictable under the circumstances.  Tara had returned to Cortina's caves with Elvis, gathering supplies while she soothed the beast in Willow's absence.  And now the remainder of their little group was here, preparing to endeavor what he would have seen under more calming circumstances as an insane escape plan.  Please, Buffy, he wished silently.  Just keep him talking long enough for us to do this…

*************

She was past the incapacitating anger.  Some quiet time with Spike prior to their departure had managed to subdue the crimson waves roiling through her head, his arms wrapped around her shoulders as his cheek pressed against her hair, his murmured words of serenity and ease quieting the rage that fought within her breast.  Buffy didn't know if this was something she just hadn't noticed before, or if it was something to do with the cleansing ritual, or something else entirely, but this still side of the vampire, the gentleness he brought to the table as he helped her focus past the hate, was not something she had ever expected to find in him, but not a gift she was willing to throw away.  She had let him soothe her spirit with his voice, with the hands that outlined the veins on the backs of her hands, and though the remnants of their earlier disagreement regarding his dreams still tattered in the distance, both of them deliberately chose to ignore them, settling instead on the moment, and the other, and their current need.  It was what they both wanted.  To ensure that this plan---foolhardy as it might seem---would work.

She didn't doubt that Travers was up to something as she paced the length of the room.  It was taking him too long to meet up with her; a few more minutes and she'd call a halt to this, using the talisman that hung around her neck to contact Dolly to get her out of here.  She had no worries about being ambushed; once she'd found the room he'd selected, Buffy had pulled the door off its hinges and set it aside so that she had a clear shot for the exit, could hear anyone trying to approach.  And at least she wasn't going to have to worry about magic being used on her.  Willow had confirmed before Cortina had come through that the dampening field still surrounded the building, which meant the Vrolek children were still inside.  That left only armed Council guys to defend herself against.  And there were no doubts in her mind about how she'd fare with them.

There was no rush in his step as it came down the hallway and Buffy steeled herself for the next few minutes.  Don't kill him, she reminded herself.  Keep him talking.  Let Giles get the others out of here, and then you can focus on getting some real answers.

"My apologies for taking so long," Travers said as he stepped inside the room.  He held up his hands to show that he was unarmed.  "I'm afraid that I had a few more flights of stairs to navigate than you did.  I really should have considered having a lift installed prior to our using this particular building."

"Where's my mother?"

He nodded.  She hadn't let him down.  He'd known she would cut straight to the heart of the matter.  "Did Miss Rosenberg tell you why we were holding her body?"

"Because you think you've got the mojo to bring her back to life.  Now where is she?"

"That's actually only partially true."

It wasn't what she was expecting, and she hesitated.  "So…you _can't_ bring her back?"  No, she said to herself.  Don't feel disappointed.  Focus on the plan.  Talk.  Just talk.  Don't pay too much attention to what he's really saying.  You can get the real answers later.

"Oh, no, we can.  Provided it's done quickly.  But the Soul Eaters must be bound first."  Quentin paused, his watery blue gaze steady.  "Which requires Cortina's presence."

She snorted, rolling her eyes.  "What is she, the back-up plan?  You've already got your Vroleks.  Just do your little ritual and get this over with.  I'm tired of your playing games."

"I'm afraid they're useless to us now.  In order for the children of the wind to be stopped, we need a fresh…"  He stopped, realizing he'd almost used a word that he was sure the Slayer would object to.  "…Vrolek," he finished.  "I don't suppose you thought to bring Cortina along with you?"

Buffy's laugh was loud in the empty room.  "Unlike you, Q, I don't betray my friends," she snapped.  "And I've got this weird allegiance thing about people who are constantly saving my life.  Color me old-fashioned that way."

"Saving your life is exactly what I've been trying to do all along, Miss Summers.  Surely you can see that."

"Kidnapping my friends only pisses me off.  I would've thought you'd be smart enough to figure that out by now."

She wanted to smack the smile from his face.  "But it worked, didn't it?" Travers commented.  "You're here.  Spike is not.  The targets for the Soul Eaters have been divided, and now it's just a matter of doing the ritual to stop them for good."

"Are you deaf as well as dumb?  How many times do I have to tell you?  You are _not_ using Cortina.  There has to be another way to stop these things."

"There isn't."  The mirth was gone.  "I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky that the binding contained them for as long as it did.  But they can't be killed, Miss Summers.  You can't kill what doesn't---."

"---have a body, blah, blah, blah.  Heard it a million times, and I'm still not buying.  How can you save my mother?  They've taken her _soul.  Cort says she'll just be a shell if you restore life to her body.  Soulless."_

"We've learned that it takes the children of the wind…time, to consume a soul.  And we long ago learned of a way to retrieve that which had been taken.  Really, you must allow us the opportunity to do this for you, Buffy."  It was the first time she could ever remember him using her first name, and she frowned as he took a step closer to her.  He was trying to suck her in with his promises of life as normal, attempting to garner her trust again.  And the thing of it was…she wanted to believe him.

"Cortina said she has all the books on the Soul Eaters.  And if they've been out of commission for the last century, how could you have figured this out?"

"We…experimented during their…incarceration."

His voice was expressionless, but Buffy wasn't stupid.  Her hazel eyes widened as the meaning of his words sunk in.  "Those really _are Cortina's kids, aren't they?" she said softly.  She didn't even wait for a reply.  "You didn't kill them.  This binding thingamabob you did…it imprisons them, doesn't it?  _In_ the Vroleks.  That's why they're still alive.  That's how you knew when the Soul Eaters escaped.  And you want me to __trust you?"  She shook her head.  "You make me sick.  They were children---."_

"They were demons---."

"---_children_," she reiterated, almost spitting out the word.  "With a mother that still loved them.  And you _bought_ them---."

"To protect the world from the children of the wind---."

"---when for all you knew, there could be other ways to have that happen."  Her breathing was beginning to be erratic, the anger rising again in her gullet.  If the truth of what had happened was affecting _her_ this way, Buffy thought as she struggled to remain calm, what would it do to Cortina?

*************

Willow watched in mute desperation as the Vrolek stood frozen next to the bodies, the tension in her arms causing her entire shape to vibrate as she struggled not to react to the sight before her.  There had been no doubt who the children were as soon as Dolly had dropped them off in the room, but witnessing Cortina's fight not to betray their location to anyone outside by maintaining silence was painful at best, heartbreaking at worst.

The tears streaked down the white demon's face, falling to stain the front of her robe in damp as she gazed down at the unconscious pair of children, a combination of sorrow and anger mixing with the salt.  How many times had she dreamed of seeing their faces just one more time?  Made untold promises to gods and devils and everything in between for just one more chance to hold them, to tell them she was sorry for failing to protect them from harm?  And now here it was, and she was powerless, unable to do anything but stand, and stare, and nod mutely in response to Willow's question regarding who they were.

The magic that contained them was still there, and because they didn't know how it worked, Cortina could not even think of touching the barrier for fear of it somehow affecting her in the same way.  The crystal on the dais was not something she had ever seen before, and she wanted nothing more than to be able to crush it between her fingers, to break whatever spell it was holding over her children.  But nothing they did made any difference.  Willow had brought along a few tricks she'd hoped would nullify the crystal's effects, but these did little more than create some pretty sparks.

"We have to wait for Dolly," the redhead finally said quietly.  "She'll have to find a way to teleport them out of here so that we can work to free them from…"  She gestured futilely at the dais.  "…whatever this is."

"I want him dead."  The monotone of her voice was frightening, sending shivers down Willow's spine, but Cortina was oblivious to the effect her words were having on the young witch.  "When we get Quentin Travers out of this place, please tell Rupert to keep me as far from the bastard as possible, because if I see him, I promise you, I will shred his skin in fire and make him feast upon his own liver before I even consider letting him die."

"Um…OK."  She didn't know what else to say, and for the first time since meeting the Vrolek, Willow was feeling genuinely afraid of her.  She was saved from any further response by the sudden appearance of Dolly on the other side of the beds.

"I'm going to guess that your human's little parlor tricks didn't work," the green demon said with surprising softness.  

"Can you teleport them out of here like this?" Cortina asked, lifting her gaze away from the beds for the first time since arriving into the room.

"I can sure as hell try," Dolly replied.

Before their eyes, she began to fade away, lifting her arms over the Vrolek children as she did so.  Nothing happened to them.  They remained as solid as ever.

"Damn," she muttered, coming back.  "Maybe if I got inside it," she mused out loud, and began to vanish again.

Willow realized she was holding her breath as she watched Dolly try over and over again to move the children, eventually letting it out in a long gasp when the demon finally shook her head.

"I can't do this all day," she apologized.  "Maybe if I had more time…"  There was genuine sorrow in her gaze.  "I'm so sorry, Cort."

"I can't…"  Cortina's hands curled into fists at her side as she stumbled away from the beds.  "You don't really expect me to _leave_ them here, do you?"

"I expect you to do whatever it's going to take to free them from whatever...mess that stupid Council's gotten them into," Dolly retorted.  "And for now, that's going to mean coming back later.  When you know how to get through to them."

"We'll find out from Mr. Travers," Willow offered.  Her eyes flicked to Dolly.  "Buffy's still talking to him, right?"

"I haven't gotten a distress call yet, so I'm assuming yes.  And I've already gotten her mother out of this place, so it's time to start wrapping this shindig up before someone figures out what I did to those cameras."

Cortina's bloodshot eyes returned to the children.  Leaving them again was impossible, but reason told her it was the only she could help them at this point, even if it was going to tear her up inside to do it.  "I'll be back," she whispered.  "I promise."  And the next time, she would die herself before parting from them again.

*************

They were divided again.

As soon as he had seen Cortina, Giles had ordered Dolly to return them to their room, where he proceeded to bundle the Vrolek into his arms and hold her wracking form as the hysterical sobs overcame her, his hand tangling in her hair as he murmured what he could only hope were words of soothing into her ear.

Joyce's body was at Cortina's caves with Willow and Tara, as they waited for whatever instruction Buffy would offer once she was done interrogating Quentin Travers.  They were more than a little creeped out at being the designated corpse-sitters, but the possibility that they might somehow be able to reverse the unnecessary death was sustaining them as they began their research on the crystal.

Meanwhile, the Slayer and her hostage were back at her rooms.  He was a little worse for wear, unconscious from the sudden teleportation, so she was taking advantage of the reprieve to fill Spike and Dawn in on the details she'd gleaned so far.  The vampire already knew some; his worry for his lover had kept him in close contact with her thoughts while she was gone.  Now, though, he eased back, and let her tell the story as she saw fit, taking advantage of her distraction to begin formulating his own plans.  This would end, very soon, if he had any say in the matter, and she would be grateful afterward.

And the children of the wind flew ever closer…

To be continued in Chapter 25:  Unseen Presence…


	25. Unseen Presence

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy has snatched Travers in an attempt to get all the answers they need, retrieving Joyce's body at the same time, but Cortina's children were unable to be moved, locked within the magical field provided by the unknown crystal…

*************

"Describe the crystal to me," Giles directed, his eyes hard but his voice low.

Dolly sighed, leaning heavily back against the wall outside his and Cortina's room.  "What's the point?  You're going to find out soon enough from that Travers what it is."

"Because he's still unconscious, and if for some reason I _do know what they've used, the sooner we get Cortina's children out of that building, the better it will be for all involved."  Every muscle in his body was wound tight, and he had his arms folded across his chest, hands shoved into his armpits, in an attempt not to spring.  "I'm quite learned in these matters.  It's possible I'll know what it is."_

"And then what?  They'll get rescued, the Slayer and Spike will come up with some plan to get rid of these Soul Eaters without sacrificing Cort, and you'll go toddling off into the sunset playing daddy knows best with two demon children?"  She shook her head.  "And here I thought you had a brain in that pea-sized skull of yours, Rupert.  You haven't really given your future with Cort any consideration, have you?  One human and three Vroleks does not a family make."

She wasn't saying anything he hadn't thought already while he'd been waiting for them to emerge from the Council building, but he refused to allow her to see that.  "This isn't about _my_ future," Giles argued.  "This is about Cortina regaining whatever life she can with her children.  She's suffered far too much to endure much more of this, and if I can ease that burden in any way possible, you can bloody well be sure that I'm going to."  His blue eyes were flashing behind his glasses, his frustrated anger momentarily causing him to forget that he was actually squaring off with a demon.

Much to his surprise, Dolly started laughing, quickly covering her mouth to stifle the noise as she glanced guiltily at the closed door behind him.  Her Vrolek friend was fast asleep on the other side of it, exhaustion and weeping sapping her strength until she'd drifted off in Giles' arms.  "If nothing else, I do like your balls," she said through her hand.  "Cort's done a lot worse than you, I'll give her that."

"I'm glad I amuse you so, but that's hardly the point here."

"No."  She sobered immediately.  "The point is, your bosses---."

"_Ex_-bosses."

She rolled her eyes.  "Fine.  Your _ex-bosses have spent the last century lying to the woman you claim to love---."_

"I _do_ love her."

"Will you stop interrupting me?  I'm trying to talk here."

"And I'm trying to do something _other than talk for a change."  Stepping forward, Giles raised a single finger in the green demon's face, his temper straining to be unleashed.  "I'm done with debating the finer points of Council mechanics and my relationship with Cortina.  For someone who claims to be her friend, it seems to me you're more interested in arguing semantics than helping find a solution to a nasty problem that's been tormenting that poor woman in there for more than a century."  He took a deep breath.  "Now.  I'm grateful for the aid you've offered to this point, and I can certainly appreciate that you don't like me very much, because I'll admit there are times when I'd like nothing more than to stop __your complaining once and for all.  But the fact remains…Cortina needs us united in helping her through this, and if you're not willing to do that, you're merely a liability.  And, if that's so, you should do us all an enormous favor and just bugger off."  _

The coarsening of his language was not the only indication of his fury.  Twin spots of red highlighted his cheeks, and the hand that was not in her face was locked in a fist at his side.  He hadn't realized just how much enmity he'd been harboring toward Dolly, but her continued refusals to talk about this, her consistent dredging up of his humanity and his ties to the Council, had worn away the refined veneer until Ripper's appearance was inevitable.  Not that he regretted it in the slightest.  There was no time for niceties right now, and if she was going to refuse to see that, he'd be damned if she was going to make it worse.

She didn't seem flummoxed by his outburst.  Cool eyes looked down at the Watcher, searching for what, he had no idea, and it was a full minute before she gave him a slow nod.  "There he is," she commented.  "I was wondering how much it was going to take before he decided to show his face again and get it done."

Her oblique reference caused him to frown.  "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Not a what.  A who.  The man who killed the witch to save a demon he barely knew.  That's the one who earned my respect enough to break my rule about helping humans in the first place."

His confusion eased.  She was referring to Ripper.  "I'm afraid that my temper---," he started.

"Oh, no, you don't."  She cut him off, her voice rising.  "Don't be crawling back into your shell, Rupert.  Drag him out, kicking and screaming, because that's the kind of no-nonsense attitude that's going to save your Slayer's soul, and Cortina's children, and keep you from getting chewed up and spit out once this whole mess gets into the thick of things."  Dolly couldn't help her smile.  "Just don't be dragging him out in my face all that often or I'm going to have to slap him silly.  In case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of used to being the one in charge."

There was no point in denying the smile her words brought to his lips.  "Does that mean you're going to tell me what the crystal looked like?" Giles asked.

She nodded.  "But first you get a word of advice."  She paused for dramatic effect, and leaned down to whisper conspiratorially.  "They bite."

"Pardon?"

"Vrolek children," she clarified.  "It's one of those things they eventually grow out of, but it can make for…interesting times while they're still in their development stages.  Just so you know.  For after all this over."  

It was her olive branch, and he took it gratefully albeit in slight bewilderment.  "About the crystal…" he prompted.

*************

He'd slipped away, escaping to a lounge area of the resort, when Dawn and Buffy pulled out the books to begin looking for possible answers to the crystal dilemma.  Travers, the pillock, was still out cold, all attempts to revive him so far futile, so they were resorting to the research again while they waited.  It wouldn't be that much longer, she had promised.  If the Council director didn't wake of his own accord within the next hour, she was going to wake him of her accord.

Taking a long drag on his cigarette, Spike slumped forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his knees as his shoulders bowed.  Though Buffy's mood as indicated by her presence inside his head had eased to the weight of feathers, his own had plummeted, the realization that he was no longer going to be able to shield his past from her slowly breaking through his wall of defense.  He had reacted too vehemently to the Summers girls and their efforts to get him to talk about his mother, and he knew it.  Something about it, though, dredged up every fight or flight instinct he had, with flight clearly winning for one of the first times in his undead life.  Normally, he wasn't one to run from a confrontation, regardless of how nasty it was going to be, so the fact that he was doing so now made him feel even weaker than he had prior to his hashing things out with Buffy.  And if there was one thing he hated more than anything in himself…it was weakness.

 Sod it. Just going to tell her and get it over with.  Put to test her little "we're in this together" philosophy, once and for all.

His decision made, Spike rose to his feet, tamping out his cigarette in the dish at his side as his gaze stole to the windows that overlooked the resort.  It wasn't a bad sort of place, he'd decided.  Maybe not up to Slayer tastes, but certainly somewhere he would've taken Dru if he'd known such a place existed.  Though it was daytime, he'd carefully avoided where the light spilled through the glass when he'd settled himself, watching the shifting colors of the sky outside as he'd mused on his issues.  The vibrant blue of earlier had slowly darkened, and Spike realized for the first time that those were actually storm clouds rolling in over the far-off mountains, the trees already beginning to bend in the growing winds.

He frowned.

An approaching storm.  

Wind.  

Shit.

The damn Soul Eaters had found them.

*************

His warning cut through the words that were already starting to blur before her hazel eyes, jerking her upright as she listened to his terse thoughts.

_On their way, luv.__  Time to pack up and ship out._

So much for Dolly's couple of days hope, Buffy thought, and realized she'd  put much more stock in the green demon's assessment than she'd intended.  Shaking it away, the Slayer directed her mind toward Spike.  _What about Travers? she asked.  _He's still out cold.  And we don't have any answers yet.__

_Then I suggest you wake him up._  

She could hear his boots tramping down the hallway, could feel the tension in his shoulders and wondered if his aggravation was because of the Soul Eaters' approach or something else.  

_Something else._There was a hesitation, a distant tinge of fear that she felt the vampire deliberately swat away before he went on to add, _And I'll tell you 'bout it once we blow this Popsicle stand._  _I promise._

When the wash of emotion coursed over her body, she gasped, the surprise of it manifesting itself in such a physical manner rooting her in her chair, curling her fingers around the edge of the table.  For just a few seconds, Spike had opened the gates inside his head, allowing everything to gush forth, bridging the gap between them so that it blanketed her in fire and light and ice and everything in between, saturating her skin as her pupils swallowed the hazel irises in ebony, her throat suddenly sandpaper, her stomach filled with thousands of butterflies on speed.  

Love, such overwhelming love, blazing and brilliant and drowning in need…not just for her, but for Dawn, and for the memory of Joyce, and for…was that his mother?...and others…

And the fear, and frustration, and anger, and bitterness.  So much of it directed toward himself, and others shockingly aimed at her, and the Scoobies…Giles…

And then it was gone, and Buffy was left breathless.  _Why, Spike?_ she questioned before stopping to censor herself, not understanding his reasons for granting access to the whirlpool of his emotions, feeling for all intents and purposes as if she'd just stood at the precipice of a gaping chasm and fought back the need to jump. 

_Because you need to know_, he thought.  _You need to see it all so that when I show you the other, it doesn't…you don't…you'll understand.  There was a pause and then…__I love you so much, Buffy.  For always.  You know that, right?_

Now he was beginning to scare her.  _Of course, I do.  I love you, too._

She could almost hear him sigh, tension easing away with the unneeded exhalation.  _Out with the bad, in with the good, right, Buffy? he thought, unable to hold back the ironic tinge to the words.  __It's all right.  I'm…all right.  You just better get Dolly on the horn.  The sooner we get out of here, the happier I'm goin' to be._

It was like disconnecting a phone line.  Immediately, Spike's mind closed off to hers and Buffy felt the sense of loss she was beginning to associate with his absence.  She didn't like it.  She'd begun to grow reliant on knowing he was there, feeling the cool comfort of his presence inside her head as a leveling balm in the face of all the flurry.  As her gaze slid to Travers' unconscious body on the bed, she stood, her immediate choices flashing across her mind as she crossed to his side.  

"What is it?" Dawn queried from behind her.  Something was going on; her sister's sudden weird behavior could only be attributed to another person-to-person call from Spike.

"Get the stuff ready to call Dolly," she instructed.  "We're checking out."

*************

No more moving around, Buffy decided grimly as she watched Giles pass the smelling salts underneath Travers' nose.  They were back in Cortina's caves---for the last time, she'd announced to anyone who cared to listen as Dolly had brought her in through the ether---congregated to begin their interrogation of the Council director and search for the remaining answers that were still hanging so elusively from their grasp.  She'd volunteered to wake him with force, but had been met with a reproving glare from her Watcher, forcing her to step back into Spike's waiting arms, leaning heavily against him as they watched the spectacle before them.

Though his muscles remained tight, there was an ease to the vampire's thoughts that hadn't been there since prior to their discovery of the Soul Eaters' identity, and they flowed in and out of Buffy's head with a vaporous simplicity that would've made their unspoken communications seem like the product of a decade-long link.  Images of her and him, body parts entwined, mingled with scattered observations from the grotto surrounding them, the memory of their first time in the underground stream making his erection press into the curve of her buttocks as he pulled her tight against him.

_You really think this is the time for this?_ she teased him silently, not letting her amusement at his arousal flicker across her face.  She wasn't sure what had caused this reversal in his mood, but she wasn't going to argue with it, the relief at having her solid, snarky, constantly horny vampire back outweighing the questions it brought.

_Betcha I could get you off without havin' to even touch you,_ he taunted in return.

_After.__  Let's get our answers first._

_All work and no play makes Spike a horny vampire._  Unheard by the rest of the group, he growled into her hair, inhaling deeply the scent of her shampoo, grateful for the pervading peace reaching his decision had given him.  It was pointless trying to escape it any longer; he could only hope that she would be willing to look past it, like she'd looked past the other parts of his vampire history.  Somehow, he was beginning to believe that she would.

Buffy was diverted from replying by Travers jerking in his chair, jumping against the ropes that bound him, his eyes blinking as they focused, grew accustomed to the dim light of the cave.  The first thing he saw was Giles standing before him, his arms folded across his chest, blue eyes cold behind his glasses, with Cortina standing just behind him.

"Rise and shine, Quentin," she said, fighting to maintain as much neutrality in her voice as possible.  The tears she'd shed on Rupert's shoulder had served to take the edge off her anger, just enough so that she felt safe enough in the bastard's presence not to rip his throat out.  At least…not before they got their answers.  The man still needed a voicebox to speak.

She swept a graceful arm sideways, gesturing to the cavernous space surrounding them.  "I'd say, welcome to my home, but you've already been here, now haven't you?"

He ignored the Vrolek, choosing instead to gaze at Giles.  "I would comment on your seeming desperation," Travers said, "but I fear that it would reflect poorly on my own…past deeds."  It was then that he saw the others, the two witches sitting at the water's edge, the teenager glaring at him in righteous hate, the Slayer and her vampire lover leaning against the far wall.  "Are you leaving young Harris and his paramour from this particular adventure?" he questioned.  "It appears that he is the only one currently missing."

"He's the only one you haven't bothered to drag in to this mess by kidnapping," Buffy said dryly.  "So, he gets to stay home, safe and sound, for now."

"'Sides," Spike added, "someone's got to mind Rupes' shop since you've got him chasin' after ghosts here, tryin' to protect Buffy and Cort."  He wasn't going to deign to include himself in Giles' concerns, though the vamp suspected that for some inexplicable reason, he _would_ be on the list.  "Man's gotta make a livin', after all."

"Especially since I'm inclined to believe I will no longer be on the Council's payroll after this matter is resolved," Giles added.

"Certainly, drugging and kidnapping your superior would be grounds for dismissal," Travers replied.

Cortina snorted.  "You weren't drugged, you big baby.  You passed out.  Just got a little teleportation sickness, that's all."

"Tick tock, Rupes," came from Spike.  "Let's get this show on the road."

"Right."  Giles cleared his throat.  "I'm sure you know why we have you here, Quentin, so I won't patronize you by going through some long, boring explanation about what we want and how many enormous mistakes you've made in this entire debacle.  However, I'll start with an easy question first.  Joyce Summers.  You told Buffy she could be revived.  We want to know how."

He knew there was no point in delaying the inevitable.  They were primed for answers and would not take no for an answer, would probably stoop to torture to ensure they got what they wanted.  "Magic, of course.  A spell we've perfected over the years in the event the children of the wind should someday be released."

"But this spell has an expiration date."

"Yes.  Souls taken by the wind children are consumed over a gradual period of time.  There reaches a point where too much has deteriorated to warrant saving the person who's been…taken."

"What's necessary for the spell?"  This was from Willow.

His watery gaze flickered to her young face.  "All the spell's components are back at my headquarters in Sunnydale.  We were fully prepared to conduct it once we had the children of the wind bound."  Though he could feel Cortina's cold eyes boring into him, he refused to meet them, concentrating instead on those who were directly addressing him.

"Does it require them to be bound?"  At his superior's confused frown, Giles elaborated.  "Can the spell be done if the Soul Eaters are merely in proximity?"

"If they're in proximity, that means they are still a danger."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"And I can't satisfy your curiosity on that one," Travers replied.  "We've only ever performed the resurrections when they were suitably trapped---."  He stopped, unwilling to say anything further should Buffy's earlier observations not have been transmitted to Cortina.  He didn't doubt she would be vengeful once she knew the extent of her progeny's current state and seeing as she was now reasonably calm, he could only assume that she was still ignorant of the whole story.

"Will she come back wrong?"  Dawn's voice was tight, the memory of Cortina's warnings still fresh in her head.

"Wrong…interesting choice of words."  He paused for a moment, visibly contemplating the question, forcing the group to wait as he pondered his next response.  "We have noted…changes in some of the subjects who survived the spell.  Perhaps an increased propensity for more rash behavior.  The occasional lapse in memory.  A certain…disposition for making inappropriate decisions.  It didn't occur in all, and in those where the changes were more marked, we…terminated the effects of the spell before the situation could get out of hand."

"You killed them."  Giles' voice dripped in disgust, his barely disguised sneer contorting his features.  "Does life mean _nothing to you people?"_

"Oh, it means _everything_ to us," Travers was quick to reply.  "But in our fight for the preservation of our world, there are casualties.  You are more than aware of this, Rupert.  All wars will have their wounded.  Ours is no different."

Arguing the ethics of everything the Council stood for was fruitless, Giles knew, but it didn't stop the surge of anger from burning his veins.  Concentrate, he reminded himself.  He's answered your question.  Move on to the next.

"The Vroleks you are holding.  They're in a…stasis field of some sort.  Is the crystal that's shielding them a pelanthrope, perhaps?"  The description Dolly had offered had immediately triggered something in the Watcher's memory, sending him scurrying to his books, and though he was fairly certain he was correct in his assessment, he would feel much safer proceeding once he had confirmation from the Director.

Quentin's eyes narrowed.  "When did you see it?" he queried.

That was all he needed.  "I didn't."  Damn.  He'd almost been hoping he was wrong.  The literature he had on the crystal was scanty, with no mention of magical properties.  Ordinarily, it was used in a healing capacity, providing sustenance for the wounded, not barring them from joining the real world.  "How do we nullify its effects?"

"I wouldn't advise that."

"We're not asking for your counsel.  We're asking how to get those children free from its bondage."

His watery gaze was measured, and this time, Travers let it slide to Cortina.  And here it was.  The moment he'd been dreading.  He had no doubts she would react violently to the truth, but the question remained…would Rupert beat her to the pain?  His concern for the young Vroleks was bordering on obsessive, his determination to aid his demon lover unflagging if morally dubious.  Would Quentin die at the hand of one of his own, simply because he'd not had the fortitude to dispose of this matter while the two Vroleks remained in England?

"The effects of the pelanthrope are only operative when it's used singly.  Place another crystal in tandem with it, and it loses its potency.  They…cancel each other out, so to speak."  He steeled himself as he saw the relief relax Cortina's features, the glint of hope begin to shine in those pale blue depths.  This was not going to go well.  "But if you do that," he continued, "if you remove the…children from the protection the crystal offers…they will die."

To be continued in Chapter 26: Ashes and Sparks…


	26. Ashes and Sparks

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Spike has decided to let Buffy in on his secrets, while Travers has explained that if Cortina's children are released from the crystal's field, they will die…

*************

The silence could've been shattered by a single pin drop.  His words---_they will die---hovered in the air, skewering the hope that had begun to grow in Cortina's chest as efficiently as one of Buffy's thousands of stakings, freezing the hearts of the others.  _

It wasn't even really that much of a shock to the Slayer.  Her interrogation of the Council Director back in Sunnydale had carried with it hints of darker stories behind the Vroleks and the Soul Eaters, tales he'd been unwilling to completely share at the time.  The carefully chosen words, the way he'd start and then stop as if he feared revealing too much, all of it made sense now in light of this admission.  But there was no more time for games, not with lives hanging in the balance.  Not with souls being messed with as if they were candy.

"Tell her about the ritual, Q," Buffy prompted, breaking the silence.  Her muscles were stiff against Spike's, his fingers methodically stroking the veins that pulsed in her wrist.  It was an oddly comforting gesture, but his attention was just as riveted on the scene playing out before him as the others.

_Poor Cort_, she heard him think, and felt his pity for the Vrolek weigh down the calm that had previously been suffusing him.  _She deserves better than this._

"Yes," Giles repeated.  The tone of his voice sent shivers down Buffy's spine and she realized she'd never heard him sound so…_dangerous before.  "Tell us about the ritual, Quentin."_

Travers sighed.  "For obvious reasons, you know now that it does not actually _kill the Vroleks that participate in---."_

"_Participate?_"  Cortina spat out the word, stepping forward to stand just behind Giles' elbow, knowing that if she separated the barrier between her and the bound Englishman, she would not be able to control her actions.  "You make it sound like they joined a game.  Say it for what it is."

He refused to let her visibly ruffle him.  "As I was saying, the ritual does not actually take life in its completion.  Have you not wondered in all these decades since your husband gave us the children---."

"_Sold_ you my children.  Please.  Don't play your condescending word tricks on me at this point, or you're going to find yourself without a tongue to speak at all."

More silence where Travers regarded the two facing him.  One last time to try to explain.  Any more interruptions and he had no doubt that one of them would step forth to rip his heart out.  He wasn't even sure which one it would be at this point.  "It is a binding ritual," he said simply.  "It requires Vrolek demons in order to work.  The problems arise because magic doesn't work on your species.  So we found a way to circumvent that, using qualities of the pelanthrope crystal that we'd heretofore not known.  It allowed us to take advantage of the uniqueness of Vrolek physiology so that the children of the wind could be safely housed, thus preventing them---."

"Wait a minute."  Giles' eyes narrowed as he took a step forward.  "Did you say…_housed?"_

"It is a _binding_ ritual," Quentin repeated as if that was enough explanation.  "Not a death ritual.  It binds the Soul Eaters to the host.  Or, hosts, as this case may be.  Cortina's children became…"  And here he was going to have to use the word he'd dreaded when Buffy'd pressed on the same issue.  God help me, he thought.  "…receptacles for the Soul Eaters."

"But they're still alive," Cortina whispered.  Though her voice was low, it echoed in the underground chamber, sounding hollow and desperate as she tried to assimilate the information he was now providing.

"They're in stasis," Travers clarified.  "The pelanthrope is a powerful healing crystal.  In order to ensure that the ritual would…endure, my predecessors deemed it necessary to place them within the crystal's field, keeping them alive for as long as they remained there.  We don't know how the children of the wind were able to break free from it.  We only know they did.  And by following their paths, and learning what we did about Miss Summers and the cleansing ritual, it became quickly apparent who their new targets were."

"But if you had the Vroleks already," asked Willow, broaching the question she knew the others would be too afraid to ask, "why did you come after Cortina?  Why not just put them back in her…back in?"  Nope.  Couldn't say the word.  That one hurt even her.

"Because they are useless to us now," came the reply.  "They are mere shells any more.  The Soul Eaters have…destroyed what uniqueness the demon children had."  In spite of his trepidation, his watery gaze was steady on Cortina.  "That is why we sought out another."

"You bastard!"  She leapt forward, fingers curled into deadly talons, and would've gouged his eyes out if Giles' arm hadn't shot forward and scooped her around the waist, dragging her back against him.  The muscles in his arms bulged as he strained to contain her, for once the full measure of her demon strength unleashed in his presence, and his head bowed forward so that his mouth rested at her ear, the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to hold her for very long this way only too obvious.

"It's not his fault," Giles hissed.  "I detest what's happened, too, but Quentin has merely inherited this problem.  He is _not_ the one who did this to your children, Cortina.  Don't exacerbate the situation by stooping to those levels."

"Rupert is correct.  I was merely---."

"Shut up!"  

The Watcher's voice was a gunshot in the cavern, blue eyes glowing in his fury, causing all but Spike to flinch at its intensity.  Only the vampire understood the primal protective instincts that were now controlling the other Englishman, that driving need to shield at whatever cost the woman that he loved.  His measure of respect for Rupert rose, even as his own grip on Buffy tightened.

"You would deny me this?"  She had turned against him, pale blue eyes searching his, and Cortina couldn't keep the haunting incredulity from her tone.  "After…after everything?"

"He could be wrong," Giles replied.  "Remember, he believes there is no way to kill the Soul Eaters, either.  It's quite possible your children will survive whatever…this state of…inertia they are in.  Don't allow the hate to control you.  We're better than that…remember?  _You're_ better than that."

The confusion masked the fear on Quentin's face as he watched the pair in their struggle.  "Forgive me for my ignorance," he said, "but…did you infer you've discovered a means to _destroy_ the children of the wind?"

"We believe so," Giles said, not even looking at him, his spectacled gaze still locked on his lover.  "Spike, why don't you show our guest your most recent gift from the Soul Eaters?"

The vampire eased his hold on the Slayer, sauntering forward to stand before Travers, and pulled his shirt over his head to reveal the healing burn on his chest.  "Courtesy of a little dream walk," he drawled.

"How…is that…possible?"

Spike shrugged.  "Don't know, don't care.  But we figure, if they can hurt me, then we can hurt them."

"Which is what we're planning on doing."  Buffy stepped up to stand beside the blond vamp.  "We're done running.  We're pitching our tents and waiting for the Soul Eaters to show up so that Spike and I can finish them off, once and for all."

"What if you fail?"

Their responses were simultaneous, his accented baritone blending perfectly with the Slayer's clear voice.

"We won't."

*************

All throughout the caves, there were decisions being made.  

In the library, Cortina and Giles were discussing what they were going to do about her children.  Should they free them on the chance that Travers was wrong?  Did they leave them as they were?  Could she bear watching them die all over again if the head of the Council was right?

In the grotto, Buffy and Dawn were debating the pros and cons of attempting to bring Joyce back, with Willow and Tara standing by to be friendly ears should the need arise.  Their questions were much the same as the pair in the library.  Was it worth it if something turned out wrong?  Were they strong enough to watch her die again?  For that matter, were they strong enough to deal if everything was mostly right with the eldest Summers woman but she still needed their help?

Spike's decision had already been made.  He had no doubts as to what form the Soul Eater would take once he lapsed back into dreams, and he had decided that the best way for Buffy to deal with what had happened was to watch it for herself.  Somehow, his words, his explanations, always seemed to make things worse, so he was going to trust her eyes to see the truth.  Then, once she knew, they would fight the ghost bitch and get rid of her.  Once and for all, as she kept saying.  

His mouth twisted into a smile as he lit the last of the candles.  If there was one thing about his Slayer that he knew he could always count on, it was her dedication to protecting those she cared about, the way she stood her ground to battle whatever came at her, regardless of the circumstances.  He had no idea how she was going to react to the tales of his past, but felt a kernel of hope budding deep within his stomach every time he remembered her response to the wellspring he'd shared with her.  Spike was going to trust her.  He was going to trust in the feelings they had about each other, and he was going to trust that Buffy had learned enough about him, both before and after the cleansing, that she would see that he wasn't exactly the same person he'd been back then.  Oh, part of it was still there, still colored every other choice he made.  But he'd moved on, had grown.  Most importantly…he'd learned.

He just wanted her to see that.

That being said, he was taking advantage of the slight reprieve they had while they waited for the Soul Eaters to be close enough to warrant sleeping to have one last burden-free moment of peace with the Slayer.  Well, more like many moments, all strung together.  Closing off his mind so that Buffy could have a few minutes of privacy with her sister, the vampire had slipped back to the room they'd shared, to the bed where they'd first consummated and declared their feelings for the other.  He wanted it to be special.  He wanted her to feel loved.  He wanted it to be…beautiful.  Like her.

_Spike?_

_Right here, luv.___

_Where are you?_

Carefully, Spike opened up his thoughts just enough so that she could see the bed, and felt the gentle start of recognition warm inside her head.  _You and Bit get everything sorted?_

_Yeah._  There was a pause.  _Are you…looking for privacy?  Or…can I…_

_Privacy for two.__  If that's OK for you.  There's not something we have to do to get ready for anything?_

He heard her sigh.  _Dawn's going to help __Willow__ and __Tara_ with the spell to try and save Mom while we're asleep_, she explained.  _Dolly's going to do some more taxiing around so that they can get the stuff.  So…if that invitation's open…__

_Always for you, pet._

He felt her quicken her pace as he turned back to give the room one last survey, the candles lit beside the bed, the fresh flowers he knew she loved adorning every other free space.  Thank god Cort believes in one-stop shopping, he thought, and noted with satisfaction that everything was as he wanted it.  Of course, if it could've been done without the specter of these damn Soul Eaters over their heads, it might've been better.  And one thing was for sure.  As soon as they got back to Sunnydale, Spike was investing in a new place.  Something nice.  For both of them.

He didn't turn as he felt her step into the doorway, heard the slight catch in her breath as her eyes scanned the bedroom.  Instead, he waited for her to walk up to him, knowing she would, his lashes fluttering closed as Buffy slid her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against the curve of his spine.

"Well, aren't you the big ol' softie," she gently teased.  "Should I be calling you the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man?  You've got the skin for it."

"I think you're goin' to find out I'm hard all over," he chuckled, his eyes opening, and was rewarded as her hand slid down the flat of his stomach, gliding over the erection under his jeans.

"So what's the special occasion?  I'm not missing anniversaries already, am I?  Because I am the world's worst when it comes to remembering these kind of things."

"No special occasion."  The rumble reverberated throughout his torso as Buffy's fingers slid inside the zipper to trace along the length of his arousal.  "Just thought we deserved some down time before everything goes to hell in a handbasket."

"Does hell fit in a handbasket?"

"Let's not find out any time soon."

He could feel her lips trailing across his shoulder blades through the cotton of his t-shirt, the contact so near and yet so far away.  Gently, Spike reached down and pulled out the small hand inside his jeans, tugging tenderly at her arm so that she was forced to stand before him.  "Let me do this my way," he said softly.

Buffy was transfixed as she watched his blond head lower to meet hers, his cool mouth gliding effortlessly over her forehead, down her temple, along her jaw, until his lips came to rest on the pulse point at the base of her neck.  As the tip of his tongue darted out to trace the scar from his bite that rested there, her eyes closed, basking in the attentions of his mouth as he suckled at her skin.  She would never be able to get enough of this, she decided, moaning softly as her hand came up to tangle in the curls at his nape, holding him closer as his own fingers worked the buttons of her blouse.  And she would fight to her dying breath to make sure she didn't have to lose it.

That same breath was quickening as the cool cave air met her already heating flesh, her nipples hardening to tight buds as Spike's palm brushed over their tips.  So barely there…cooling her flesh while at the same time scorching her in flames.  She wanted it harder, her back arching to force him into more direct contact with her breasts, only to feel him lift his hands to her shoulders, firmly pushing her away so that the distance was maintained between them.

"My way," he reiterated.

"Your way is too slow," Buffy pouted.  Nevertheless, she stood still as his mouth came back down, sucking her in for the lightest of kisses, before gliding to the soft flesh of her ear lobe.

"My way will make you scream so loud, we'll have our own skylight 'cause you'll be bringin' down the bloody roof," he murmured.

The promise sent shivers down her spine.  When his hands slid under the shoulders of her blouse, pushing it to fall silently in a huddled mass to the floor, Buffy nuzzled her cheek against his, smooth skin to smooth skin, feeling the harsh angle of his cheekbones cut in delicate slices under hers.  The sensations made her mouth water, and her lips parted, sliding to meet with his in a featherweight caress.

It was the gentlest of kisses, but lasted an eternity, sucking…nibbling…and…_oh god when did the room start spinning?..._all the while, Spike's nimble fingers working the fabric and fastenings of the Slayer's trousers until she stood naked before him.

_No fair.  You still have all your clothes on_.

_In due time, pet.__  In due time._

Strong hands guided her back to the bed, those lips never leaving hers even as her knees buckled beneath her, her body collapsing into the mattress.  She didn't remember it being so soft, but frankly, she probably wouldn't have remembered her address at that moment in time.  A tiny mewl escaped her throat as he stretched out beside her, his fingers returning to trace curlicues around her nipples.

When his mouth finally abandoned hers, Buffy closed her eyes and sank into the cool fire the caress of his tongue was lighting across her flesh.  He was taking his time, not an inch of her exposed skin spared from the bounty of his kisses, licking across the line of her clavicle…the hollow at the base of her throat…around the ripe curve of her breast…each stroke punctuated with an ever-growing insistency from his hands as they followed.  

There was no world…well, there was, but it didn't matter, nothing mattered, only her and Spike, and this moment, and the next, and the need that was rising deep within her pelvis, causing her muscles to tremble in anticipation of his nearing mouth.  Her fingers clawed into the blanket as he nipped at the jut of her hip, trailing a line of raw bites across the top of her thigh.

"Spike…" she whispered.  "Please…"

He ignored her, lost in the scent of her desire, his own flesh begging for succor even as he denied it.  Darting out his tongue, Spike ran the tip along her outer lips.  Her hips bucked, driving her heat into him, and he chuckled when her hands clutched at his head to force him deeper.

Chest rising up and down in a vociferous rhythm…breathing not working the way it should…thousands upon thousands of singing lights skittering behind her lids.  Every lap at her juices, every stroke of those long fingers that were now gliding in and out of her channel…all of it served to destroy what tenuous hold she had on her surroundings, drowning in the eddies that were undulating through her flesh.

Her orgasm brought her knees up, curled her legs around his shoulders to hold him in place, quivering and shivering and crying out as it rocked around her.  She felt the door inside his head crack open, his own satisfaction at pleasing her leaking out to suffuse her limbs in lava, his love intermingling with hers as she drifted along on the aftershocks.

Somewhere, somehow, his clothes disappeared, the pale ivory of his body pressing against hers, the tip of his erection hovering at the nexus of her thighs.  His mouth was back on hers---_I could die like this,_ he thought---while one arm slid along the line of her spine to hold her to him.  One lift, one slide, and he was delving into her wet heat, taking his time though it ached inside not to just plunge in one rabid stroke.  Each time he did this was sweeter than the last, a nectar that quenched his thirst for her even as it made Spike hunger for more, and when he felt himself buried inside, he waited, silently counting off, making it last.  It was only when she realized what he was doing and slapped playfully at his hip did the vampire begin the excruciating journey out, measuring each thrust in and out in the eternities of light being with Buffy gave him.

Whenever he felt himself getting close, Spike would stop, holding himself inside, all the while feeling his Slayer's powerful hands massaging the corded muscles of his back as he kissed her delectable mouth, swallowed down her delicious breath as if it was his own.  She came at least twice more before he even considered establishing his own release, each time her body shuddering beneath him, spurring him further.  

His orgasm broke through the barrier he'd placed on the fount of his emotions, and lost in the swell, they swept over the pair in bittersweet sparks, catching and igniting and burning, pledging the earth and heaven and everything in between as they reveled in what both knew could feasibly be their last time together.

_I love you so much_, Buffy's mind whispered through the miasma that surrounded them.

_I know_.  There was a pause.  _No matter what, luv…my heart will always be yours.  Just…remember that._

She knew that all of this was the result of Spike's decision to share with her the source of his agony in his past, that he worried about how she was going to respond to whatever it was he was going to share, and wished she could convince him that it didn't matter.  He wouldn't believe her, of course.  Though he came across all swagger and sarcasm, she knew that deep within the folds of leather lived a frightened young man who'd never been shown true trust prior to being turned to his current state of unlife.  Buffy could only hold his hand, and do what he asked, following where he would lead, watching what he would show…and believing in him to the end.

Because that's what you do when you love somebody, she thought, snuggling her cheek into his shoulder, lashes tickling his skin.

You believe in them.

To be continued in Chapter 27: From the Tangled Boughs of Heaven…


	27. From the Tangled Boughs of Heaven

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Quentin has explained what he can and was surprised by the Scoobies' belief that the Soul Eaters could be killed.  Buffy and Dawn have decided to try and save Joyce, while Cortina and Giles are debating the issue of her children…

*************

Every time she stopped moving, the trembling began again.  Losing her temper in front of Travers had really been expected; Giles didn't doubt for a moment how deeply hearing the story about her children affected the Vrolek.  Frankly, anything less than the display she had given would've surprised him even more.  In spite of her struggles, too, he knew that she had willingly acceded to his restraint, the tempering of her more natural instincts to destroy those who barred her path shining brightly for him if not for the others.

It frightened him to a degree how well he knew Cortina, how much of her spirit called out to his, and how easy it was getting to read her moods, to judge what her next move would be.  It shouldn't be this rapid, Giles knew.  Only on the rare occasion in his forty-plus years on this planet had he ever known such an affinity for another, and the irony that it was a demon who now seemed to be the one to place his world into an order he'd previously only dreamed about did not escape him.

For the first few minutes after settling themselves in her library, he had held her, arms wrapped around her shoulders, silently wiping away the tears that flowed freely from her eyes.  She had cried so much over the past few days---too much, she had said on more than one occasion---and though these tore at his heart just as much as the others, there was a quiet sense of peace that accompanied them, like they were being drawn from the bottom of the well and only exiting her body in an attempt to flush out the remaining anxieties from her flesh.

The tremors that had begun shivering her small frame had driven her to her feet, and Giles had watched in mute fascination as she began prowling around the stacks, vocalizing her thought processes in a stream of consciousness that was both revealing and disturbing.  So many questions.  So many decisions to be made.  And he could only be there as a sounding board while she hashed it out in her head.  As much as he would like to believe otherwise, the choice would have to be hers, and hers alone.  For these were not his children, a fact he was growing increasingly aware of with each passing minute.

"He had no clue about the possibility of killing the Soul Eaters," Cortina was repeating for the sixth time.  She kept coming back to this statement; this was the foundation to which she was clinging.  "It's as you said.  He's hardly omnipotent.  For that matter, I'm beginning to think he's not even semi-potent."  This last was said with a quick flash of a smile in his direction, one of her feeble attempts to gain some levity in the situation.  She was desperately attempting to maintain control, and though it hurt to watch the struggle in her face, Giles found himself overwhelmed with a surge of pride at her fortitude.

"Why don't you just come out and say it?"  His voice was low, probing, but not confrontational, even as she hesitated in her route to look over at him quizzically.  "You've been going over the same things for the last fifteen minutes, Cortina.  I think you know as well as I do what your decision is.  You're just frightened of saying it out loud."

She lowered her eyes then, hiding the shine from his gentle gaze, and resumed her pacing.  "It's hard to believe that I would be scared of mere words," she said.  "It's not like they have any actual capability of physically hurting me."

"It's natural to be apprehensive of anything with power.  It doesn't, however, negate the fact that you've already reached your decision.  Say it," he coaxed.

Cortina disappeared around the edge of the one of the rows of books, and Giles could hear the shuffle of texts being pulled randomly from the shelves, dusty pages breathing in the air as she flipped through them, the slide of leather against the wood as they returned to their resting places.  When the words finally came, they pricked the tension that had been knotting the Watcher's shoulders, and he bowed his head as he listened to her whispered words.

"I have to get them out of there," the Vrolek said.  "I can't just stand by.  Not any more.  I can't watch them exist in some kind of limbo where it's impossible for me to touch them, or hold them, or even know that they can hear me when I say I love them.  I've spent the last century coming to grips with their deaths.  Probably grieved for a lot longer than I should've, but when you live as long as I do, the passage of time becomes relative."  There was a pause, some more books being moved around.  "If Travers is right, and they die when we take them out of the protection of the crystal, at least they'll die feeling my arms around them.  They'll die knowing I fought for them until the end."

When he heard her steps round the stack, Giles lifted his eyes to look at her wan visage.  The corner of his mouth lifted in a gesture of reassurance at the silent plea in her gaze.  "They would be very proud of you," he murmured.  "I know I am."

"You don't think it makes me selfish?  That I'd rather they die with me, than live without?"

He shook his head.  "Can you call what they're doing, living?  You're _freeing_ them, Cortina.  That's a _noble thing.  There is no reason for you to experience guilt regarding this decision.  It will be difficult enough to face the consequences without adding your own self-flagellations to the mixture."_

His reference to consequences clearly gave her pause, and a slight color rose to her cheeks as she stepped closer to the table at which he sat.  "There are…other issues, you know," she said softly.  "If Travers is wrong."

He did know, and nodded.  This discussion was coming much sooner than he'd anticipated.

"Have you considered it?" she continued.  Another step closer.  "Have you…wondered what it would be like?"

"I think the more appropriate question is…should your children survive, does there remain a place for me in your life?"  His small smile was sad.  He knew what she wanted to hear, but he wasn't sure he was capable of saying it.  "Our time together has been…extraordinary, to say the least.  You've…touched parts of me I'd long thought dead.  Opened my eyes to the possibilities of more than my Watcher existence.  For that, I will always be thankful."

Her movements stopped, her body growing rigid as her eyes widened.  "You're breaking up with me," she said, disbelief in her voice.  "Now?  With everything that's happening?  How could you---?"

"No."  He was before her in a shot, his hands on her upper arms, feeling the stone of her flesh beneath his touch.  Her entire body was rigid, pale eyes darting, unable to stay on his for more than a second at a time.  "That's not what I meant.  But answer me honestly.  Best case scenario…Quentin is wrong and your children are perfectly fine.  Do you truly believe it's possible for me to have a place in their lives?  A human attempting to parent…demons?"

She didn't even hesitate.  "Yes.  I thought we'd learned by now that, fundamentally, you and I are not that different, Rupert.  I mean, perhaps it would be harder if I was a different species.  One that was…more of a threat to humans."

"Dolly did say that Vrolek children bite," Giles gently teased.

Cortina rolled her eyes.  "I can't believe she's still cranky about that.  I _told her not to provoke them, but did she listen?"  She shook her head.  "So, there are developmental issues.  It's not like humans don't have the same thing."_

"We don't bite people."

"You've never been around toddlers, have you, Rupert?  And don't get me started on the whole hormone-driven teenage years you lot are stuck with."  A heavy sigh accompanied the slight relaxing of her body as she lowered her head, her fingers straying to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt.  "What I'm saying is, that every species has their own growing pains.  Sometimes, they're a little dangerous, but if they weren't manageable, we would've all died out ages ago.  I couldn't think of a better male role model for my children to have than you, Rupert.  Even if you do refuse to believe that Descartes was a genius."

The re-emergence of an old debate distracted him momentarily as his hands fell from her arms to fold across his chest.  "I never said that," he argued.  "I merely stated I had issues with a man who began his philosophical inquiries by doubting all knowledge without exception---."  He cut himself off as he caught her looking up at him through her lashes, and shook his head.  "It won't work.  You're not going to divert my queries by rehashing some inane discussion we had over tea one night.  This is a serious matter, Cortina.  We shouldn't be joking about it."

"I'm not.  I'm trying to show you that it's not as serious as you think it is.  Not everything is an apocalypse."

"You have to know…I don't understand how I can fit into that role in your life."

"And you know what?  I don't know how it would work either.  But I do know you have great instincts, and that you're kind, and intelligent, and it would be very hard for me to imagine my future without you in it."  Finally, she lifted her gaze and he was relieved to see that some of the pain regarding her decision seemed to have filtered away, like she was coming to peace with it, accepting its potential consequences in hopes for the best.  "I'm not asking you for any promises.  I'm just asking that you don't automatically dismiss the possibility."

Giles nodded, lifting his hand to brush back the hair from her cheek.  If she had pressed, he suspected he would've succumbed to her wishes, his current feelings for her overwhelming to say the least.  He didn't understand why she was giving him the choice when her own desires were so apparent, but he would not deny the gift she was offering.  Perhaps time was all he needed to reach a decision.  After all, she'd been able to make a much tougher one, just as Buffy and Dawn were doing at that moment in the grotto.  Yes, that was probably all he needed.  Just a little more time.

Lowering his head, the Englishman brushed a kiss over her forehead.  "You are one of the bravest people I have ever known," he said.  "Not only for facing a choice that I'm certain every parent dreads, but also for suffering in this delusional fugue where you believe I would make a good…"  He swallowed before saying the word.  "…father."

She giggled at his difficulty in saying it.  "Well, I've been called worse things," she said, and pressed her cheek against his chest, listening to his heart pound away inside.  "Thank you."

*************

Travers' gaze was cold as he watched the two witches sort through the supplies they had just teleported in from the Council building.  "You're holding that upside down," he instructed as Willow examined a small oblong-ish statue.  "If that remains in that position during the spell, you will only proceed to disintegrate Joyce Summers' physical remains."

The redhead frowned, glancing at the still tied-up Director out of the corner of her eye before carefully turning the object over.  "Uh, thanks," she said, and set it down on the ground alongside the rest of the stuff.

"You do know you lack the power necessary to successfully perform the spell, don't you?" he continued.  "I'd thought your skills were far more advanced, but now that I know you were not the ones who actually rescued Spike, I've reverted to my original assessment.  You are not strong enough."

"Is there a reason we didn't gag him?" Tara asked her girlfriend.

"I think it was some veiled reference from Giles about respecting authority," Willow replied, shooting Travers a dirty look before adding, "Even if they're lying, back-stabbing, pompous meanies."

"Perhaps it would be wise for me to call in someone to help you," Travers said.  "A third source from which you can draw to ensure the spell's completion."

"Giles is going to help us, so thanks, but no thanks."  She didn't want to admit to the older man that she was actually afraid that he was right, that she and Tara _didn't have enough power between them to do it, but there was no way she was going to give him the satisfaction to know that his ramblings were starting to get to her._

The cavern was silent for a moment as the two girls worked on organizing their ingredients.  Only the soft gurgle of the water as it lapped intermittently against the stones along the bank sifted through the air.

"Do you have means to detect the approach of the children of the wind?" Travers asked, breaking the lull.

After sharing a look with Tara, Willow sat back on her heels and nodded at the Englishman.  "Dolly and Cortina gave us some hints on how to find the Soul Eaters," she explained.  "We've got wards set up out in the desert to let us know when they get close.  That way we can give Buffy and Spike the heads up to do their sleep slaying."

He nodded, eyes thoughtful.  "Ah, yes.  This…attempt to kill them.  Pardon me if I'm a trifle…hesitant to put my faith in such a plan.  It seems unnecessarily foolhardy when there is a perfectly good means of controlling the children of the wind without risking either the Slayer or Spike."

"Buffy and Giles warned us you might pull something like this," Willow warned with a wag of her finger.  "Cortina's our friend.  We don't go Sybil-ing our friends by sticking an entire demon species in their bodies.  It's not nice."

"And what if their plan fails?  Will you stand by and watch your friend die?"

"_They_ won't."  She was sure to emphasize the "they."  After everything, Spike was turning out to be just as much of a friend as Buffy.  "If it looks like the Soul Eaters are getting too close, Dolly's just going to whisk them to safety and we'll try again later."

"The traditional stalling technique.  I see."

How did Buffy put up with this guy as a boss for so long? Willow thought as she felt her defenses jump up, her lips pressing together as she bit back the retort that jumped to her tongue.  "It's not stalling," she finally said.  "It's very much stall-free.  It's, well, you know, it's…"  In quiet desperation, she looked to Tara for help.

"It's regrouping," the blonde chirped, her chin high.

Willow lit up.  "Yeah, regrouping.  That's it.  Not stalling."

"And when will you attempt the spell to resurrect Ms. Summers?  You'll have quite a small window of opportunity, you realize.  The children of the wind should most likely be close in proximity, but not so close as to be a true threat."

"Don't worry.  We have a schedule.  We know what we're doing here."  She frowned again.  "Why are turning into Chatty Cathy all of a sudden?  Are you deliberately trying to distract us so that this doesn't work?"

"On the contrary, Miss Rosenberg, my only desire since the children of the wind escaped has been to ensure the Slayer's happiness and wellbeing.  Everything I've done has been in the name of keeping her safe.  I have no wish to see her harmed at this point in time.  She is far too valuable to us in our current battles."

"But you kidnapped Spike."

Quentin sighed.  "As I've already explained to Miss Summers, we did so only with the best intentions."  As he regarded them, he blinked once, twice, and then gave them what they thought he was trying to pass as a smile.  "Believe it or not, I _am your ally in this matter.  Use my wherewithal if you wish.  Or don't.  The choice is yours."_

It was pointless for him to speak further, he knew.  The witches were faithful to a fault, loyal to their friend and her mentor without question, and all he could do was be honest at this point.  They didn't believe him, but that was partially his own doing; after all, he had been the one to order their kidnapping, even if it hadn't been his original idea.  I must remember to speak with Clive about that when we return to London, Quentin thought.  His suggestion most certainly did not work according to plan.

*************

She had no idea how long they had been lying there.  Hours, probably, although in so many ways, it felt like nothing.  A blink.  Not nearly enough time.  But was there ever really enough time? she wondered.  She'd always taken the issue of her life expectancy relatively lightly…well, as lightly as could be expected.  She knew it was part of the Slayer gig.  And as much as she fought to keep that expiration date as far away as possible, Buffy also knew that she'd long ago come to terms with the possibility that it could end at any single moment in time.

And there it was again.  Time.  The lack thereof.

Beneath her cheek, Spike's skin was reassuringly cool, and delicately, Buffy traced the burn marks that remained on his chest.  "At least it doesn't hurt anymore," she commented softly.

"Wouldn't matter if it did," he said, his voice barely audible, eyes closed as the arm that was wrapped around her traced the line of her spine with a single finger.  "I can take anything as long as I know you're safe."

She lifted her head, the candlelight dancing in her eyes as she looked at him.  "You're not going to go and do something amazingly stupid like try to kill this thing on your own when we go head tripping, are you?"

The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile even as his lids remained shut.  "Now, would I do something like that?" he drawled.  He chuckled when her tiny hand slapped at his shoulder.  "Think I've learned my lesson, pet.  In this together.  I promise not to do anything profoundly daft until you show your pretty little face."

Her lips parted, the short intake of breath to speak the only sound in the room, only to be stopped by a quiet rap at the door.  Immediately, Buffy stiffened, and simultaneously, both she and Spike turned to look at it.  "Come in," she called, and felt her heart thumping in her chest.

The door creaked open and Willow's red head poked apologetically around its edge.  Her eyes were solemn.  "It's time…"

To be continued in Chapter 28:  As in My Boyhood…


	28. As in My Boyhood

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  The Soul Eaters have arrived…

*************

Everything was going to happen in the grotto.

Giles had been the one to make the decision.  In the face of everyone's distraction, he was the one who was rallying them forth, keeping them focused on the plan, barking out orders to demon guards and Dolly alike.  With the possibility of failure all too real, the Watcher had decided that centralizing everyone within the cavern surrounding the stream afforded Dolly the best and easiest means of transporting everyone out, should the need arise.  So, Joyce's body was brought in and laid out, with Willow and Tara preparing their restoration spell, while a makeshift bed was created for Buffy and Spike near the water's edge.

Cortina hovered in the background as the final arrangements were settled, watching as Spike nuzzled Buffy's hair, his whispered words of love lost to everyone but her.  Who would've guessed that just a routine sweep of her caves a month earlier would lead the lot of them to where they were today? she thought.  If her guards had let Buffy and Spike remain where they'd been hiding, she would never have met them, or Rupert, or learned about the existence of her children…

She shook her head as if that would dispel the what if's from her skull.  It was pointless dwelling on the past when this was where they were today.  Take what they'd been given and try to make the best of it.  Hope for chocolate mousse and pray they didn't get mud pies.  

With a bright smile that didn't quite connect to her eyes, Cortina strode forward to the lovers' sides and lightly touched Buffy's shoulder to get her attention.  "I wanted to say good luck," she said when the blonde turned to look at her.  "Dolly's going to be getting me out of here soon, so I'm going to miss all the festivities.  Darn the awful luck."

"You know, we're going to have to do something about this no-magic thing around you," Buffy said.  "You're going to miss out on all the good apocalypses this way."

"Make them some old-fashioned, hand-to-hand fights, and I'm there."  The Vrolek's pale eyes slid up to Spike's, softening when she saw the flash of worry buried in the cerulean depths.  Poor vamp was really scared about this, she thought sadly.  Gotta love his bravado, though.  Probably only Buffy and I can see the truth.  "Don't be getting yourself killed now," she instructed him with a false sternness in her voice.            "I need someone around who can keep me company during the day when these two---," she gestured to Buffy and Rupert, "---go riding into the sunrise trying to save the world."

"Goin' to do my best," Spike replied.  "Dying's not exactly high on my to do list today."

In an uncharacteristic flash of emotion, Buffy leaned forward and gave Cortina a quick hug.  "As soon as we kill these things, we're going to settle the Council's issue with your kids," she promised in a whisper only the Vrolek could hear.  "I'll even let you hit Q."

Her smile was sad as she pulled away from the embrace.  "I'll hold you to that," she murmured, and then turned to Dolly who was waiting off to the side.  "I'm ready.  We should get me out of here so that these guys can get the show on the road."

The group was silent as the two demons disappeared in a soft whisper, leaving the gentle pitter of the water in the stream the only sound bouncing against the stone walls.  Even Giles took a moment to reflect on the noticeable void Cortina's absence left in them, in spite of the fact that they all knew this departure was necessary for the magic to work effectively.  It wasn't just about the restoration of Joyce Summers that would be at work here.  In order to ensure Spike and Buffy would fall asleep, a slumber spell would be done to each of the pair in turn, with Dawn as the trigger for ceasing it, should the presence of the Soul Eaters get too close for safety.  The teenager would be watching them, scanning their bodies for wounds that might suddenly appear from nowhere, ready to pull them back to the waking world should the threat become too severe.

"Spike."  Giles' voice cut through the tension, causing his Slayer to jump and reflexively curl her fingers around the vampire's forearm.  "Please.  Get into position.  We need to start."

"Right."  A quick glance at Buffy, a shy lift of his mouth, and Spike turned away from her, striding with deliberate nonchalance to the bedside.  He paused, frowning at Dawn's obvious discomfort as she hovered near the foot of the blankets.  "What?  It's not like you haven't seen me sleepin' before, Bit."

She shifted her weight uncomfortably, an embarrassed flush creeping into her cheeks.  "Um, it's not that.  It's…you know."  She gestured vaguely toward his chest.  "Your shirt.  You have to take it off.  So we can see if…you get any more burns or gaping wounds or anything."

"Ah.  Right."  With his fluid grace, the vampire pulled the cotton over his head and was halfway facing the bed when a sly smile curled his mouth and he glanced wickedly back at the teenager.  "You sure that's goin' to be enough?" he teased, his hands straying to the fly of his jeans.  "Hellbitch could make a swipe for my---."

"Spike!"

His innocence was feigned as he looked back at Buffy.  "What?  I'm just sayin'---."

"Saying is not sleeping.  Get into bed."  She could hear his chuckle inside her head and had to refrain from laughing out loud herself as she saw the shocked horror that stretched her sister's eyes and mouth into saucers.  _Bad vampire, she chastised him as he settled himself on top of the blankets.  __Trying to corrupt the innocent teenager with your potential nakedness._

_You know I wouldn't have done it, luv.  Just wanted to see her face, is all._  She saw the smile lingering on his face as he flashed on the memory.  _Gotta__ admit, it was funny._

_Now is not the time for funny.  _

It sobered him immediately, and she felt the sigh of resignation waft through his thoughts.  _Right, there.__  A vampire being hunted for his soul isn't funny at all.  It's wonderful, bloody irony, that's what it is._

Spike's eyes fluttered shut, and he stretched his arms out along his sides, exposing as much of his flesh to the scrutiny of the others as possible.  With the vamp in position, Willow stepped forward, a small vial in her hand.

"How long will it take?" Buffy asked.

"It should be pretty much instantaneous," the witch replied as she knelt at Spike's side.  Dipping her finger inside the bottle she held, she began chanting under her breath, the words of whatever language the spell was in, unintelligible.  Sticky fluid stuck to the digit she pulled from the vial and carefully, she pressed it against each of his closed lids, watching as it seeped beneath his lashes to disappear into his eyes.

Buffy clung to the line between her and Spike's minds as she saw her best friend lean forward, her mouth pursed to---.

---_love__ you always, pet---_

---blow softly into the vampire's ear.

He was gone.

Silence.  Shattering, ear-splitting silence.  And Buffy had never before felt more alone than she did at that exact minute.

"OK," she chirped, ignoring the strain in the people around her.  "My turn."

As she approached the bed, Willow held up her hand to stop her.  "You have to wait a few minutes," she said gently.  "Spike needs to get into a REM cycle, or this won't work."

"That just means you have to wait to put me under," Buffy said, carefully brushing her friend's arm aside.  "That doesn't mean I can't lay there and hold him while I wait for you to do it."

They didn't stop her.  What was the point?  She was right.  Folding herself over his inert form, stroking the sharp line of his clavicle as she nuzzled into his shoulder, wasn't going to do anything to affect when Willow did the second half of the spell.  It would give Buffy a few moments of peace before the nightmares began.  And her friends and family were the last people on earth to deny the Slayer even a second of that.

When it was done, Willow sat back on her heels and gazed down at the two blond lovers, one chest rising, the other deathly still.  She was grateful for Giles' distraction; he'd been too absorbed in his thoughts to pay much attention to her while she put the pair to sleep.  If he had been listening, he would've noticed how the incantations had varied, how the words she'd whispered to Spike had invoked not vague dreams, but specific memories.  That had been at the vampire's request.  She hadn't pressed as to why.  It wasn't her place.  But when he'd come to her before, pulling her aside while Buffy talked with Dawn, she had seen the naked need in his face for this to happen and had agreed before rational thought could interfere.

They were still dreams, she reasoned later.  Just dreams of the memory lane variety.  Nothing that wouldn't prevent the Soul Eaters from putting in an appearance.

She hoped.

*************

The first thing she noticed was that she couldn't breathe.  Well, she _could breathe, just not very well._

A quick glance down and Buffy's face crumpled in dismay.  Oh, crap, Spike, she thought as her gaze swept over the delicate lines of the long dress that clung to her thin form, the sweeping ruffles edging the skirt.  How the hell do you expect me to fight when you've got me looking all Upstairs Downstairs?

Looking up, the musky scent of the cobbled street assailed her nostrils, the mist swirling in lazy tendrils around her feet.  She felt a brief sense of panic when she saw it, and then eased, taking as deep a breath as the corset she was wearing allowed.  The smell's not the same, she thought as she took a tentative step forward.  It's not the Soul Eaters.  It's actual mist.  Can't hurt me.  Unless Spike is dreaming about killer fog now.  And if he is, I'm going to kill him.  We _sooo_ don't need that right now.

"Miss Summers!"  The voice stopped her from the path forward she was taking, and Buffy turned to see a portly man standing on the walk behind her, a long handlebar mustache making him look like something out of a Dudley DoRight cartoon.  "You're going in the wrong direction," he said.  He gestured toward the house beside them.  "Master William is waiting for you."

Her gaze slid to the dwelling, drinking in the long, thin windows that looked like gashes across its front, the orange and scarlet flutter of candles behind the net curtains almost making them look as if they were bleeding.  The distant tinkle of a piano emanated from inside, and she could hear the muffled rumble of many voices, could see now the shadows of those same people standing within.  It was a party, it seemed.  And she was invited apparently.  Because Master William was waiting.

Following the gentleman into the house, Buffy paused just inside the door, drinking in the carefully placed furniture, the spotless sterility of the décor.  Immaculate, and expensive, and not at all what she would've expected.  Just because she had access to Spike's memories didn't mean that she had necessarily dipped into them all that frequently, so seeing this house---_was it his or someone else's_---came as a surprise.  She was still too used to it being all about the Big Bad Spike, not about the bloody awful poet William.

"He's in the drawing room," her guide explained.

Hazel eyes darted between the multitude of closed doors going off the foyer.  "And the drawing room would be…?"

His arm swept to his left, and she followed its path with her gaze, her feet still rooted to the floor.  "Master William is waiting for you," he repeated.

"Right," she muttered, and stepping forward, pushed the door to the room open.

It seemed as if the bulk of the party was inside, the small room crammed with people, men of all shapes, sizes, and ages scattered about, some with cigars, some with tumblers of amber-tinted whiskey.  The women seemed to be confined to the seats in the room, except for the one who sat at the piano, playing the dainty melody that Buffy had heard in the street.  A fire roared in the fireplace, and the first flush of heat crept up her breast, reminding her of the tight corset and her lungs' current restrictions.

"Would Miss Summers care for something to drink?"

Her affirmative response froze on her lips when she turned her head, the sight of the twinkling blue eyes behind the glasses catching her by surprise.  "Spike!" she said, and then blushed when a few of the guests glanced sharply in her direction.  "I mean, William!"

He was chuckling as he bowed deeply, his eyes sweeping over her curves within the dress.  "Is there a time period you _don't_ look absolutely luscious in?" he asked, his voice barely above a murmur when he straightened.  

It was disconcerting at best, she decided.  In so many ways, he looked like an older version of that child on the playground, the light brown hair carefully arranged yet still managing to slip into curls across his forehead.  His body was leaner than what she was used to, not quite filled out as he neared the end of his teenage years, a delicacy accentuated by his long, slim hands, hands that looked as if the hardest thing they'd done was turn the page of a book.  And yet, in spite of his careful mimicry---actually was it mimicry if he'd really been there?  Perhaps memory was a better word---of the manners of the period, she had no problem seeing the Spike inside the façade…the glitter in the sapphire depths of his eyes…the sardonic curve of his mouth as he edged himself to her side…the liquidity of his movements, boneless and ever so lithe that promised more than an eighteen-year-old Victorian male should even know about.

"I've got a bone to pick with you," Buffy accused lightly.

His hand found the small of her back, fingertips dancing up her spine.  "Get outta those clothes and I've got a bone I can give _you," he teased._

She blushed.  Again.  As inviting as his innuendo was, it seemed horribly out of place amidst the throng, and she glanced furtively around, wondering if anybody was paying them any attention.  "I'm serious.  Well, I guess my bone is with your subconscious.  It couldn't have picked a more suitable place for a demon fight?  Like…the training room at the Magic Box maybe?  Lots of nice weapons at hand, and I wouldn't have to be trapped in the Iron Maiden here."

The reference to his subconscious immediately sobered him, and Spike straightened even further, shoulders thrown back as he turned his head to look out over the crowd.  "About that," he said softly.  "There's something I need to tell you.  You might not like it much."

Buffy frowned.  "Is it the Soul Eater?  Is she here?"  She craned her neck, eyes jumping from one woman to the next, wondering which one was his mother.  Access to his memories did not mean she had a picture of the woman who'd raised his human self anywhere to be had, and she found herself wondering why that was.

"No.  I was told…Mother would be late in joining us."  His words were awkward, hints of that nervous young man he'd been prior to his turning shining through, and he seemed to all of a sudden not to know what to do with his hands.  "How they can mess with my head so much, I'll never know."

"Don't knock it.  It's giving us the means to kill them."  Her hand slid up his arm, hesitating when he stiffened beneath her touch.  "Can we slip away?  Is it something you're not comfortable talking about here?  Because personally, I'd _love_ to get out of this dress.  Maybe that subconscious of yours can whip up some jeans for me," she joked.  

"That's just the thing, pet."  When he glanced down at her, his glasses began to slide down his nose, and his hand rose automatically to push them back up.  "Not really sure how much control I'm actually goin' to have this trip out.  It's not my subconscious steering the boat."

"What're you talking about?  Of course, it is.  I watched you go to sleep.  This is your dream."

"Not exactly."  He took a deep breath and for the first time, Buffy realized that he'd been breathing all along.  Is he…?  She stopped the thought, saw the flush in his cheeks and before he could continue, lifted her hand to touch his face.

Warm.  Alive.  Oh my god.

The surprise of it caused the room to swim around her, the air she'd been struggling to hold onto exiting her lungs with a vengeful whoosh, and her hand shot out to grab on to the wall behind her in an effort to stop herself from pitching forward.  It hadn't occurred to her to think of him as being human before, yet made perfect sense considering where they were.  Had he been human when they'd been on the playground?  He must've been and she'd only been too wrapped up in her grief to notice, too tired to see the life that had crawled beneath his skin.

"Buffy?"  His arm was a rock around her waist, steadying her, the tiniest of cracks in his voice as his concern sent his pulse to race.  Spike began guiding her toward the door.  "C'mon.  I'm getting you out of here so that I can explain this in peace."

The quiet of the hall wrapped around her, and Buffy found herself crazily wondering what had happened to the man who had brought her in.  She stumbled as Spike eased her into a chair, crouching before her to scrutinize the sheen on her forehead, the panting she couldn't seem to control.  "I'm going to get you some water," he said.

"No."  Her fingers curled around his arm, coaxing him to stay.  "I'm all right.  Honest.  Just…you're breathing."

He looked embarrassed by that, ducking his head as his cheeks flamed.  "Yeah, well, turns out I'm almost always human in these little jaunts," Spike admitted.  "Guess I managed to leave that detail out, huh?"

"Guess so."  Sitting made it easier, the black spots that had been dancing before her eyes now a pale shade of gray.  Now that the initial shock was gone, she was feeling guilty for over-reacting so, and her mind raced to change the subject.  "What were you saying inside?" she prompted.  "Something about this not being your dream?"

Right.  Time to tell.  "It's like this.  All this stuff about my mum I didn't want to share…I thought, maybe if you saw for yourself what happened, it might…you might…it might make more sense than if I tried tellin' you myself.  Sometimes, my mouth doesn't seem to be attached to my brain and what comes out of it ends up making things worse."

A chill settled in her veins.  "What did you do, Spike?"

He stood then and began pacing the corridor in front of her.  "It's not bad," he rushed.  "Least, I don't think so.  Not any more bad than if I'd told you, or if you'd tried sussing it out on your own.  And I know what's goin' to happen, more or less, so that's good, right?"

"What.  Did you.  Do."

He sighed, pulling off his glasses in a gesture remarkably like Giles.  "I asked Red to put a little spice in her mojo," he admitted.  "Asked her to make me dream about something specific.  To…make me re-live the stuff I've been…afraid of you seeing." 

"William?"

The voice behind him made him stiffen, his hand jerking to return his spectacles to his nose, and Buffy saw the flare of his nostrils, the slight tremor in his fingers as he visibly composed himself, slipping into his Victorian persona with the ease of well-worn slippers.  "And let the show begin," he murmured, low enough so that only Buffy could hear.

"We have guests, William.  Do not suppose I shall allow you to malinger in the hallway when you have a responsibility elsewhere."

Buffy frowned, rising slowly to her feet.  Her hand reached out to touch Spike's arm, but he stepped adeptly away from her, expertly maintaining the traditional veneer he'd affected.  She watched as he bowed his head, turning away and aside to expose the young woman before him.  

"My apologies," he said, and her eyes widened when she heard the change in his accent, the roughness gone and replaced with the silky tones of the uppercrust.  "I was merely aiding Miss Summers.  She was…unwell."  He lifted his gaze, his hand gesturing between Buffy and the new arrival in the hall.  "I don't believe you have been properly introduced.  This is Miss Buffy Summers, here from across the ocean.  Miss Summers, may I introduce my father?  Mr. William Burbidge, Senior…"

To be continued in Chapter 29: The Thorns of Life…


	29. The Thorns of Life

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  In anticipation of encountering the Soul Eaters in his dreams, Spike asked Willow to make it so that he would dream about the specific events from his past that he was concerned about Buffy discovering, so that she could see for herself what exactly happened.  Meanwhile, the Soul Eaters are nearing…

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  I debated where to put this and I've decided to predicate the next few chapters at the outset so as to be clear and to prevent any questions to come midway through the storytelling.  The outline for this story happened last November/December.  When I saw "Lies My Parents Told Me," unspoiled I might add, I got thrown for a huge loop because the backstory I had created for Spike was different than was told in that episode.  I took a hiatus from writing this for a long time because of that, because I wasn't sure how to proceed.  After a lot of thinking, I've decided to stick with my original outline rather than try to change it to accommodate the new canon that had been introduced.  What that means for you as a reader is that the next few chapters are _not_ going to be about Spike vamping his mother.  I had my own ideas about what had happened to Spike and his family, and I'm sticking with those for the purposes of my own sanity.  That being said, I hope you enjoy…

*************

Hunger licked along the wind that carried them closer to their repast, soaring above the stratum of mortal men as they focused on the light and dark, beckoning to them in taunting languor as if to say the promise of their souls would ease away a century of deprivation.  They were tired of the games, the hide and seek the pair were playing, and yet could not stop…_would not stop.  They had traveled too far, and too long, to cease the hunt now.  The dark and light __would join with them, feed them in power as the children of the wind devoured their very essence, and nothing would stand in their way._

To trespass within their dreams was a luxury, a taste of the potential that would sustain them, and too tempting to ignore, so as soon as proximity allowed, they called within the ether to those minds, stretching to combine and control inside the heads of the light and dark.  The tendrils that met them were unexpected, powerful, and though sense should've dictated they withdraw, the children of the wind found themselves bound by the magic that they encountered, unable to break free, drawn into the web encircling the pair they sought.

It was wrong.  Even as they found their essence being absorbed into the unconscious world swirling around the dark and the light, the Soul Eaters felt the differences, knew they lacked their usual control and were entering dreams that were more than just dreams.  Magic.  Memories.  And this time, nobody would have the power…

*************

Even if she hadn't been introduced to him, Buffy would've known this was his father as soon as he opened his mouth.  The voice, though not a match for this current incarnation of her lover, was the same as Sunnydale Spike's, that deep rumble that emanated from deep within the chest, the edges just slightly coarsened by the effects of smoking.  Cigars, she reasoned, as her gaze flickered over the carefully manicured fingers.  That seemed more in keeping with the time.  Though his accent was more genteel, the choice of words so stuffy he even made Giles sound normal, if she closed her eyes, Buffy would've sworn that it was Spike who was currently speaking, and not William Senior.

The similarities did not end there.  The coloring was different, yes---where William Junior sported light brown curls and blue eyes, his father was dark, both of hair and aspect---but other features were the same.  The nose, slightly too wide…the mouth with its full bottom lip…the wide forehead.  He carried himself stiffly, as was the norm for the period she was discovering, with proud chin held high, an obvious intelligence glinting in the brown depths of his eyes, and while he was probably close to Giles in age, he was still trim, a compact build not hidden by the well-tailored suit that hugged his frame.

"My sincerest apologies," Mr. Burbidge was saying, stepping past his son to stand directly before Buffy.  His bow was courteous, but as his head lowered, her eyes widened as she saw an unmistakable gleam in his own gaze as they raked over her slim form.  She knew that look; she'd seen it often enough on Spike's face to recognize frank desire when she saw it.  It was just disconcerting to see it on someone who was not only old enough to be her father, but also borne in an age where such impropriety was frowned upon.

"I do hope that your illness is not a reflection on anything we have served this evening," he went on to add as he straightened.  "I would be most upset to learn that Mrs. Prescott's cooking was not up to her usual standards."

"No, it wasn't the food," Buffy assured, flashing him a bright smile in spite of her unease.  "I was just too…warm.  Spi---_William was kind enough to…let me sit out here so that I could cool off."_

The glance Mr. Burbidge shot his son was questioning, but cold.  "Though William has much to learn of his duties, I cannot fault his gallantry in assisting such a beautiful young lady as yourself."  He smiled down at the young woman.  "Return to the party, William," he instructed.  "I will tend to Miss Owen's needs."

Spike had already started to move before the order was complete, but the sound of the name from his father's lips visibly shook him, stopping him in mid-step and jerking stiffly to stare at the two.  Buffy met his gaze with confusion, and wished that she wasn't stuck inside a dream unable to read his thoughts.

"You mean, Miss _Summers_," Spike said.  "From America.  I've only now introduced you, Father."

Mr. Burbidge waved a hand in dismissal, not even bothering to look at his son who now hovered just behind his shoulder.  "Yes, I am fully aware of that," he said.  "I'm certain your mother is looking for you, William.  Miss Owen and I---."

"Miss _Summers_."  His voice was harder this time, and Buffy caught a hint of the dangerous vampire peeking through the Victorian façade as Spike circled his father to stand at her side.  His body was stiff as he stared at the older man.  "This is _not_ Miss Owen, Father.  It's Miss Summers.  Please stop calling her that."

The battle between blue and brown forged the air in copper as they glared at each other, the arguments flying unspoken in the face of their stand-off.  The familiar play of muscles flexing under Mr. Burbidge's powerful jaw caught Buffy unawares, and she frowned, stepping back and slightly behind Spike as her gaze darted between the two.  So recognizable, and yet eerily wrong, like a beloved costume worn by a common thief.  But if these were memories, perhaps not so wrong.  Just…unexpected.

In spite of the decorum of the era, Buffy had no doubts that William Senior would be able to more than handle himself in a more violent age, and understood without having to be told that this was something Spike himself had known, even as a human.  How disconcerting, she thought, that the soft-spoken intellectual Spike had been, only interested in the beauty of the world surrounding him, had been raised by a man who courted with the very same danger the vampire would later embrace.  Yes, it was wrapped in the appropriate manners and a well-cut suit, but the inclinations were still there; she'd been the Slayer for too long not to recognize a bad guy---or even a potential bad guy---when she saw one.

Mr. Burbidge was the first to break from the staring contest, and turned an apologetic smile to Buffy.  "Again, my sincerest apologies you were feeling indisposed," he said, and bowed as he stepped backward toward the party.  "I trust you will be rejoining us as soon as you are able to tear yourself away from my son's rather awkward care."  One last glance at Spike, and his voice took a distinct chill.  "Do not tarry, William.  Your mother will be most displeased if you are not present when she comes down."

As soon as they were alone, Spike's hand curled tightly around Buffy's arm, pulling her further away from the door that remained slightly ajar.  "What was that all about?" she asked, frowning as she looked up into his drawn face.  "Who's this Miss Owen and why doesn't he seem to get it that I'm not her?"

He ignored her questions.  "You're goin' to have to wake up here, luv," he said in a rush, his accent reverting to its crasser cadences.  "I think I've buggered this little arrangement up, and I'm not usually the one who finds it so easy to break out of these little dream walks of mine.  So, let's rise and shine, and hightail it outta here, all right?"

"Is there a problem?"

"I'll explain it once we get out of here," he said.  "Just open those gorgeous eyes of yours, and get Red and Dolly to pull their little strings to get us the hell away from all this."  He paused, watching as the Slayer closed her lids, the tiny line between her brows deepening as she seemed to be struggling with something internally.  A minute passed, and the distant sound of his father's voice caused him to jerk more than once, but Spike remained intent on the blonde's face, waiting for her to vanish before his eyes, just like she had every other time she'd been wakened.

It never came.

"I can't," Buffy finally admitted after several more minutes of this, asserting her sight again to gaze up at his concerned face.  "Maybe it's the magic, but something's not letting me get out of here like I normally can."

"Fuck," Spike muttered.  Pulling off his glasses, he rubbed in frustration at his eyes.  "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Colorful language aside, you're not telling me anything useful here, Spike."  Her tone was wry, slightly amused at his seemingly extreme reaction to what looked like such a little thing.  "So I have to play at being this Miss Owen for a while.  It's no big.  OK, so not real keen on the whole need to be all Meryl Streep, but it's just a dream---."

She winced as his fingers dug into her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him.  "It's _not," he hissed.  "That's just it.  This---," and he gestured wildly about him, indicating the room as well as them, "---is part of what I wanted you to see.  _Miss Owen_ is part of what…was one of the…"  His blue eyes widened as a flash of understanding burned inside his skull.  "Buffy, if you can't get us out of here, I can't guarantee you're not going to get hurt."_

She shook her head.  "That's why Dawn's watching us, remember?  If the Soul Eaters lay a hand on us---."

"I didn't mean by the Soul Eaters.  I meant, by me."

It took a moment for his words to sink in, and Buffy's jaw dropped slightly as her hazel gaze scanned his face.  He meant it.  Somehow, Spike believed that he would be responsible for harming her in some way, and that was why he wanted them to get out.  Was it part of what he needed her to see?  What exactly had he done?  Her lips parted to respond, to try and allay his fears, when a throat clearing from behind and above them drew both of their attention.

There was no mistaking who the new arrival was.  The cheekbones, the vivid blue eyes, the soft coloring…this was where Spike had inherited those features so vividly etched into her memory, and yet, as Buffy stared up at the face of the his long-dead mother, an icy vortex of fear seemed to settle in her gut.  The softness of the older woman's beauty may have been an accurate replication of Mrs. Burbidge, but she was sure the chill in those sapphire orbs was not.  The Slayer had seen that same hungry gleam in another mother's eyes, in another dream where laughing children swirled in glee around a playground, and hardened herself as the woman descended the stairs.

"What an interesting choice, William," she said as she came level with the pair, her slim hand resting on the banister.  "Isn't it amazing how the subconscious works?  I would hardly have assumed you would opt to share such memories with…"  Her clear voice trailed off as her eyes clouded, resting on Buffy's face in mild confusion.  "Miss…Owen?" she queried, struggling with the name.  "But…you're not.  You are the dark one, not…"  Her gaze returned to Spike.  "I don't understand this game you're playing, William.  She should be…but I can't…seem to…state something as obvious as her real name."

"Perhaps that means you will be forced to restrain yourself from hurting her," Spike replied, and Buffy noted that he'd returned to the refined accent of his youth in the presence of his mother, even if his words refuted her apparent identity.

Mrs. Burbidge smiled, a small chuckle escaping her thin lips in spite of her obvious discomfiture at the situation.  "And perhaps that means I will be privileged in watching you do exactly what you fear the most," she said lightly.  Lifting her hand, she patted Spike's cheek affectionately.  "I don't understand what you've done here, William my boy, but I will play along for now.  It should prove…"  Her azure gaze flickered to Buffy.  "…interesting."

*************

A shadow passed over Dawn's face as she watched her sister begin to twitch along the makeshift bed they'd constructed.  Only a couple minutes had passed since Buffy had fallen asleep, and already Willow and the others were preparing the spell to try and resurrect Joyce, leaving the youngest Summers female to watch over the slumbering lovers as they attempted to face off with the Soul Eaters.

When the twitches turned into unintelligible muttering, her sister's placid face began to screw up in what could've been pain, and Dawn stiffened, her fingers tightening around the leather sac in her hand.  "Willow?" she called out, not letting her eyes move from Buffy's form.

The witch immediately responded, scurrying to the teenager's side.  "What is it?" she asked.  Her eyes scanned the sleeping bodies.  

"I think something's wrong with Buffy."

There was more muttering, a few more uncomfortable shifts in her rest, and then the Slayer settled, although the frown that now creased her brow didn't ease.  "She's probably just arguing with Spike," Willow said, turning away.  "Not like that hasn't happened before."

"But…"  Dawn gnawed at her lip, the cord of the sac twisting around her fingers.  The vampire was eerily still; it was only the stirrings from her sister that had raised her doubt.  "Wouldn't Spike be arguing back?" she said.  "It's not like he's just one to sit back and take what she shovels."

The question made the redhead pause, her own frown appearing for a brief moment.  "They're not getting all wound-y, are they?" she asked.

"No.  Not that I can see."

"Then they're fine.  Spike's not dust, Buffy's not bleeding, nothing can be wrong.  But good job on the lookout, Dawnie.  Just let us know if anything else changes, OK?"

Behind her, the trio went on with their preparations, focusing on their task at hand while Dawn deliberately loosened her grip on the bag in her hands.  Everything's fine, she thought.  Willow wouldn't let anything happen to them.  Everything's going to be just fine.

She just wished she could believe it.

*************

Buffy had never been so bored in her entire life.  As she sat on the divan near the window, a bevy of other young girls seated around her gossiping and chittering in such a fashion that made the Slayer start thinking even Harmony would be a better party companion than these, her eyes kept straying to where Spike hovered at his mother's side, watching as he fetched her an assortment of foods and drinks as the evening progressed, smiling deprecatingly whenever she would make a comment to one of their guests that was obviously meant to be amusing.  

The charade was confusing.  On the one hand, it was obvious to her that Spike was aware of her presence yet did nothing more to assert his recognition of her, while on the other, he was almost melting into this portrayal of an adolescent William, slipping into the role of the shy and sensitive young man she knew he had been with an ease that surprised her.  More than once, Buffy had tried to break from the group that had seemed to adopt her to approach him, but had been dragged back by insistent hands, scolding voices about the inappropriateness of interrupting their hosts, and giggly mockery of the younger Mr. Burbidge.  Their disdain for the vulnerable aspiring poet was almost palpable, and she found herself sitting on her hands so that she wouldn't reach out and slap the silly smiles from their faces.  No wonder Spike likes being a vamp so much, she thought irritably.  If I'd had to put up with these simpering twits for more than this party, I'd probably have staked myself just to get away from them.

So she sat in relative silence, wondering just what exactly Spike had been so frightened about in dredging up these memories, entertaining herself by counting the flowers in the wallpaper before moving on to replaying the movie "Grease" in her head, recasting it with Spike as Danny Zuko and herself as Sandy.  Who could be Rizzo? she wondered.  Because Willow is definitely Frenchie…

She shook her head, bringing her mind back to the present.  Or the past.  Or whenever the hell she was.  Spike had to have a reason why he wasn't going after the Soul Eater just yet, Buffy reasoned, but then again, Mrs. Burbidge had been the epitome of Victorian grace the entire evening.  Maybe he can tell when things are going bad.  After all, he was the one who knew when it was Mom, and they've been playing with him all along.  He's probably got their whole sitch sorted and will tell me when it's time to make our move.  She sighed.  At least I hope so.

She watched as his mother beckoned him closer, his lean frame bending to hear what she whispered in his ear.  His pale skin blanched, and she caught the furtive glance he shot in Buffy's direction, but Spike quickly straightened, adopting that obsequious smile he wore around the older woman, and nodded his head curtly before turning on his heel to exit the room.  The adrenalin immediately shot through the Slayer's veins, her senses on alert.  Maybe it was finally time.  Except…why had he left without her?

Out of nowhere, the portly man who had guided her inside appeared at the edge of the divan, ignoring the other girls as he leaned forward to address her privately.  "Master William requires your presence in the study, Miss Summers," he said.

So he hadn't forgotten her.  She smiled.  Time to get this show on the road.  Spike must have a plan.

As she rose to her feet, it slowly dawned on Buffy that this messenger was the only person outside of Spike who seemed to recognize her for herself, and not this Miss Owen that everyone kept calling her.  I wonder why that is, she thought as she followed him from the room, and shuttled the observation to the side to ask her lover later.  It's not like it matters; it's all just a dream anyway.  And pretty soon, it will all be over with.  

He stood away from the open door of the study to allow her to enter, his wide face impassive as she brushed past.  Greeted only by the presence of wall-to-wall books, Buffy turned back to him with a frown.  "He's not here," she said.

The messenger was already guiding the heavy wood door closed.  "Master William will be with you momentarily," he said, and vanished from her sight.

The problem with this particular dream, Buffy decided as she stepped to the middle of the room, was that everything in it to this point had been too real.  Well, of course it's too real, she thought, it's all stuff that actually happened to Spike; at least, that's what he said.  But still, when discontinuity of his subconscious stepped in, fast forwarding or creating anomalies that disrupted the fabric of the memories unfolding before her, the Slayer found herself temporarily laboring to maintain her equilibrium.  Like Mr. Messenger Guy popping in and out like the Great Gazoo from the Flintstones.  She grimaced.  I've really got to stop watching Saturday morning cartoons with Dawn, she thought, her fingers trailing over the dark mahogany of the desk that dominated the room.  I'm turning into Xander.

Her back was to the door when it opened, an almost imperceptible creak to the hinges reaching her ears.  "Miss me, pet?" she heard, and had turned halfway around, a smile on her face, when his hands curled around her waist.

She knew right away it wasn't him---the touch too light, the fingers the wrong shape as they tugged at her flesh---and jerked back against the edge of the desk as she pulled herself from William Senior's caress.  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, angry glints dotting the hazel as she stared up at him in amazement.

He chuckled, and when he tilted his head in such a Spike-like way, dark eyes sweeping over her, Buffy felt her stomach plummet, wrapping her muscles in stone as he slowly stepped forward.  "I do like this game of yours the best, I believe," he crooned.  The voluminous skirts of her dress gave him anchorage to lock her against the wood with the lower half of his body, and her eyes widened at the unmistakable erection pressing into her pelvis, even through the many layers of clothing between them.

"Get.  Away."  Her voice was cold, chipped in ice as she lifted her hands and pressed against his chest, summoning her strength to send him crashing through the wall if she had to.  The anger melted into fear, though, when he remained solid beneath her touch, his own fingers wrapping around her wrists and pinning them tightly.  Her wince of pain was real, and for the first time since entering the dream---_memory, she reminded herself---Buffy realized she wasn't the Slayer here, which meant she didn't have her Slayer powers._

She was a girl.  In the company of a very bad man.

And she was beginning to suspect where Spike's fears had stemmed from…

To be continued in Chapter 30: Yellow, and Black, and Pale…


	30. Yellow, and Black, and Pale

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  People in Spike's dream/memory are mistaking Buffy for a Miss Owen, including Spike's over-amorous father…

*************

He had long ago decided this was the stupidest idea he'd had in bloody forever.  As soon as he had begun the charade of returning to the party with his mother at his side---_correction, that hellbitch Soul Eater in the guise of his mother--- Spike had found himself relegated to the back of his head, locked within young William's body as it went through the motions of reliving the events of the past, helpless to do much more than occasionally take control of his sight and look over at Buffy._

Those moments were too few, and confusing at best.  She'd been captured the entire evening by a swarm of young women, and while Spike knew it was in actuality his Slayer, the image of her was overlaid with that of the long-dead Miss Owen, creating a mishmash of features that were both Buffy and not, like one of those holographic child toys where the face changed depending on how the plane was tilted. Happy…sad.  Buffy…Miss Owen.  Spike…bloody awful teenaged poet.  

He desperately wanted to go over to her, to grab her hand and drag her out of the place of his youth, but William refused to relinquish reign over his corporeal form---_and how strange to think of his dream body as corporeal_---relegating a fuming Spike to rant and rave in the recesses of his mind.

If this played out as he remembered, he knew how this was going to end.  It wouldn't be pretty.  And the odds of Buffy being harmed were great, unless he could find some way to break the spell that he'd asked Red to cast.

You couldn't just _tell_ her, could you, he silently seethed, berating his vampire self with the livid rage of impotence.  No, you had to go and take the coward's path and let her see it for herself, all because you didn't trust how she would interpret your words.  And now look at the mess you've gotten the pair of you into.  Locked inside a nancyboy's head, forced to play toady to the bitch you came here to kill, incapable of even going up to Buffy to tell her exactly what's going to happen because poor William didn't have the spunk to walk up to a woman, let alone the stones to speak to her.  That brand of temerity would not present itself until after he'd returned from university, which wasn't for a few years down the road in this trip down memory lane.  And it damn well wasn't going to help Buffy tonight.

When his mother's voice had drifted up to him, complaining of the cold and asking him to fetch her shawl, Spike felt his heart shrivel within his chest, a chill dread icing over his skin as William hurriedly agreed and set to his task.  This was it.  This was why he'd left the party that night so soddin' long ago.  The fact that he could still see Buffy sitting on the divan in the window did nothing to assuage his growing fear at what he knew was coming.  If she was in fact there to play the role of Miss Owen, she would soon know firsthand exactly what Spike had wanted her to see.  Would she hate him for putting her through this?  He wouldn't be surprised if she did. Seeing the path he'd taken was one thing; being the prey within it was another.

The details of the memory of this night had escaped him over the years.  Now, though, Spike found himself drowning in the colors and smells as William gathered the shawl from his mother's sitting room.  Her scent, a mixture of lavender and camphor, hung in the air like a gossamer trail begging to be followed, evoking an eruption of nostalgia through the vampire that threatened to offer him a return to control.  

For a moment, William faltered, frowning as he glanced back into the room, blue eyes sweeping over the elegant curves of the furniture, the book of poetry sitting on the table, his mother's needlework carefully folded in the basket next to her favorite chair.  Inside his mental cage, Spike drank in the sight the young man's eyes gave him, unseen hands itching to pick up the text, to glance through it and see his mother's delicate script on the inscription.  Fears for Buffy washed away as he eddied in the moment, pangs of regret for simpler days sluicing through him to root his form to the spot.  This was unlike his other nocturnal forays.  Those had been entered with foreknowledge of pain and suffering, penance to be paid for inflictions caused within the bowels of his past.

For all his intervention, for all his desires to open that final door to the Slayer to allow her true understanding of who he was, why he did the things he did, this was a rueful malaise for what might have been, brought about by the soul he no longer doubted he had.  It wasn't Buffy's either, he'd come to realize.  It couldn't be.  Hers was still intact, merely tarnished by its contact with his demon.  No, the driving force that had been burgeoning the array of emotions coloring his thoughts and actions since the cleansing could only have been the result of gentle William.  The pain.  The anguish.  The fear.  The desire for more.  For respect.  Well, that had really been about since before the cleansing, but it didn't negate its current presence as well.

The reminder of William shattered the brief power Spike held over the body that housed him, and the young man turned away from the room, pulling the heavy door closed behind him.  The vampire could hear his host's thoughts---_Mother will be waiting, mustn't let her get too cold­_---and almost sighed as he saw the egress to the study looming before them in the corridor.  And here it was.  Back to the root of it all.  The reason they were bloody here in the first place.  

And what he wouldn't give to be able to go back in time and not make the request of Red.  To have the balls to just tell Buffy what had happened.  It wasn't like he was pained by what he knew he was going to discover; as a vampire, Spike had certainly done far worse than anything his father had dealt in his mortal existence.

No, it was the destruction of innocence that frightened him now.  William's innocence as an adult world he had no cognizance of prior to this evening destructed around him.  Buffy's innocence as the perceptions she had of Spike's human time on this earth came into conflict with the immediacy of what she was about to experience and witness.

Each step nearer made the voices he could hear on the other side of the wall louder.  Muffled, still, but undeniably there.  And it became a litany of remembered sensations, a path that he'd started with the casting of Willow's spell, one that he had no recourse but to follow.

The niggle of curiosity that tickled William's stomach.

His father's voice.  Laughter.

A woman.  Not a scream, but perhaps a shriek, its tenor unknown.

Fear.  Coursing through his veins.  Adrenaline hastening his heartbeat to enliven the nerve endings in his skin.

The cool knob beneath his tremoring hand, his mother's shawl dangling forgotten from the other.

Pushing the door open, his mouth open to speak, the words reversing their route to choke in his throat as his brows shot upward, eyes bulging in surprise---_William's surprise, knew this was goin' to happen, poor sod_---at the tableau before him.

His father stood at the side of his heavy desk, his jacket off, his shirt undone and pulled from his trousers.  Deep scratches etched his chest, but the older man seemed oblivious to the rivulets of blood that were oozing down his abdomen, his attention focused instead on the struggling form before him.

William's breath caught.

Miss Owen.

_Not Miss Owen, you wanker.  Buffy.  The bastard's got his hands all over my Slayer._  And the vampire raged within the young man's skull, powerless to do anything but watch.

Her wrists were caught in his father's grip, pinioned over her head so that her arms twisted in pain as she fought against both the confines of her clothing and the attentions of her attacker.  Crimson colored her nails, and Spike noted with smug satisfaction that she had drawn blood in her resistance to Mr. Burbidge's assault.  Her clothing was still intact, though her skirts were pushed up around her waist, her undergarments starkly white against the dark wood of the desk and the ebony of his trousers.

She saw him first, catching the sight of the young man hovering like ice in the doorway out of the corner of her eye as she thrashed to break herself free.  He saw the recognition set ablaze the frustration in her eyes, the relief almost pouring off her flesh.

"Spike…" she called out, but it wasn't that name either man heard, though it landed on the vampire's consciousness like an arrow through his chest.

It was the sound of his son's name that drew the elder Burbidge's gaze to the door, steeling the desire that had flamed his skin.  "Shut the door, William," he directed, almost a hiss through his teeth.

But the young man was frozen, and Spike could feel the tumult of thoughts and feelings battling inside his head.  The betrayal.  The anger. The disappointment.  And most importantly…the fear.

"I said.  Shut. The.  Door."  Harder, angrier, dangerous glints in the dark eyes.

"What are you doing?"  William's voice was barely audible, though to the room's occupants, it seemed to boom against the paneled walls.

The danger dissolved into amusement, his father's head tilting as he scanned the thin form in the entrance.  "I would not have presumed it would interest you.  Perhaps I was mistaken.  Perhaps you would like the opportunity to find out for yourself what it means to be a man."

"Spike!"

Her second cry yielded a furious slap across her cheek by Mr. Burbidge's free hand, and Buffy's head smacked against the desk with a harsh crack.  Returning his eyes to his son, he smiled.  "We will be disturbing the party if you continue to stand there with the door open," he said, opting for a different tack.

Again, William didn't move.  "Mother wanted her shawl," he said aimlessly, as if that was an explanation for his continued presence.  "She was chilled."

"Then I suggest you get it to her.  I will join you…momentarily."

_No!_ Spike screamed, but was not heard, mute to the memories playing out in this netherworld of his dreams.  He felt the vise gripping his human self loosen, lost the vision of the sight within the study as William ducked his eyes.  And just as it had occurred over a century previously, the young man pulled the door quietly closed behind him, leaving Miss Owen---_Buffy---within the vicious embrace of his father, the imprint of her voice as it called out to him for aid echoing inside his head._

*************

The door closed.  It actually closed.  He hadn't stayed.  Or helped.

Buffy blinked.

When she opened her eyes again, the study was gone.

*************

Instinctively, she knew it was the same house.  As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Buffy hovered against the wall, feeling the heavy weight of her skirts around her legs, remembering the brutal claws of Mr. Burbidge's touch pinching and squeezing her flesh through her clothing, the heavy scent of cigar smoke and alcohol on his breath as his mouth had savaged her throat.  Even without her Slayer strength, she had fought him, succeeding in drawing blood when she'd scratched at his chest, and though it should have filled her with some sense of accomplishment, it instead left her empty, vacillating between confusion as to what the hell was going on and frustration that she was trapped inside it.

It was all part of Spike's past in some way, but how much was real and how much was just an affectation brought upon by his unconscious, she had no idea.  And she needed to know.  More than anything else, she needed him here to explain it all.

The creak of wood settling behind her raised Buffy's senses, pressing her into the wall as her head turned in the direction of the sound.  Silence, and then another creak, this time closer.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Buffy?"

She almost wept at the sound of her real name and threw herself toward its speaker, colliding with Spike's very solid chest in the space of just a few seconds.  Her cheek nuzzled the silk that covered it, her arms wrapping around him as she clung in relief, and relaxed against the steadying rhythm of his heartbeat within his breast.

"Sshh," Spike said, and lifted his hand to brush the hair away from her cheek, lowering his mouth to the top of her head.  "We have to keep our voices down.  Everyone is asleep."

"What's going on?" she whispered.  "Do you have any idea what's been going on with me in this whacked out dream of yours?  And can I just say?"  She pulled back and stared up into his face.  It was older than it had appeared earlier, a little fuller, and she realized that his voice was slightly deeper as well.  They were still in his memories, albeit a little farther into the future.  Or past.  God, thinking of the time issues was enough to give her a headache.  "Your dad is a scary, _scary_ man."

"I know.  I was there, luv."

She couldn't see his eyes clearly in the dark, only black pools gazing down at her.  "You were there?  But…I called to you, and you didn't…I thought it was William."

Spike sighed.  "It was.  And me.  It was both of us, if you can believe it.  Just not me steering the boat, which is why I couldn't answer you.  Seems I only get my hands on the soddin' rudder when I'm not an active participant in the memories I was hopin' you'd see."  The break in his voice was noticeable, and his lids flickered closed as he leaned down and pressed his forehead into hers.  "I'm so sorry, pet.  This wasn't s'posed to be like this.  I didn't know…you were just…it was s'posed to be like a play or something.  Where we watched.  Not where we…"  He swallowed the lump in his throat, angry at the tears that were now stinging his eyes.  "Please tell me he…he didn't…that you…"  Fuck.  He couldn't even say it out loud.

She felt the damp on his lashes and lifted her mouth to brush her lips over his.  "I'm OK," she assured, more of a breath than a voice.  "As soon as you left, I showed up here.  So nothing worse than some not-so-nice gropage."

"Thank god," Spike muttered, and his hands came up to scoop her face between his palms, pulling Buffy's mouth hungrily to his as he sought to share his relief in their kiss.  It felt like forever since he'd been able to hold her; not having control, having to watch as if behind glass, had been more crippling than he'd thought.  It was only when he could once again taste freedom that he realized just how much he valued it.

They were both gasping for air when they parted, and Buffy sensed the memory of William Senior's touch receding from her awareness, unable to compete with the practiced hand of her lover, even when he wore his Victorian persona.  "Will you tell me what's going on here?" she queried.  "Did Willow's spell go wonky?  I thought this was supposed to be about whatever happened with your mother."

"It is.  That was the night it truly started for me."  He was beginning to slip into the more tempered tones of the era, and the realization that maybe she might be losing Spike again scored Buffy's heart in bloody slivers.  "That was the night I learned the truth about my father."

"So…that…really happened?"  She saw his reluctant nod and couldn't help the next question that came tumbling from her mouth.  "All of it?"

His lips curled in scorn.  "I ran like the child I was.  Afraid of him.  Afraid of what he would do if I stayed.  Or if I told.  Miss Owen called out to me for help and I…I…I went back to the party and gave my mother her bloody shawl and said nothing.  I kept his damn secret, and when he returned to…to…"  His breath hitched, thick with the sobs he could no longer contain.  Stupid soul, he thought, except he knew he probably would've cried even without it.  Because this time it hadn't been Miss Owen who had been at his father's mercy.  It had been Buffy, and though she said she was fine, Spike knew better, knew he shouldn't have allowed anyone to hurt her in such a way.  This was all his fault, when all he ever wanted was to protect her, and if she didn't toss him to the curb when this debacle was over, he would be mightily surprised.

She cradled his head into her shoulder, trying to soothe away the century of pain with the gentle caress of her fingers at the nape of his neck, the knots that tensed there refusing to yield beneath her ministrations.  "You couldn't have stopped him," she whispered.  "I was there.  William would've been no match for his dad.  It would've just made things worse."

"I should have tried.  At the very least…"

It was her turn to shush him.  "But it's over now, right?  It's all in the past.  You wanted me to see him.  I get it.  You were afraid of looking like a coward, that I'd think less of you.  But I don't.  So now we can concentrate on the Soul---."

"But you don't.  Get it, I mean.  That night was---."  He broke off as the distant sound of voices filtered into the hallway, stiffening visibly before her eyes as his head swiveled to look past her.  "Don't think I'm going to be at bat here for a bit, pet," he said, struggling to maintain his persona as William came to the fore.  "Sit back and get ready for act one, scene two."

It was like a shutter being drawn over his eyes, and even in the dim light, Buffy could see the vampire disappear, the young man he'd been return to power.  He held himself stiffly, shoulders thrown back, eyes trained on the door behind which the voices came.  When she laid her hand on his arm, he seemed oblivious to her touch, choosing instead to step forward, his breath coming in short pants as the lines appeared between his brows.

"William?" she whispered, but knew even before she'd finished uttering the name that he wouldn't respond.  He didn't see her.  She wasn't really there.  This time, at least, she was just there to watch.

Buffy followed his laborious tread as he neared the room, cocking her head to listen with him.  The voices were louder here, and easily discernible.  His parents.  Arguing.  Briefly, she wondered how the Soul Eater was reacting being caught up in the web of Willow's spell, and then decided that what was happening to Spike was probably happening to it, being locked behind the ghost of the past as time replayed itself.  The sense of justice it gave her was surprising, and she had to bite back the smile that rose to her lips.  Now was not the time for merriment, even if it was at the bad guy's expense.  Well…maybe a little.

A crash from the other side of the heavy wood caused both of them to jump, Buffy back and William forward, his hand leaping to the doorknob as he visibly struggled with himself and some inner decision.  Fear played across his features, mingling with residual anger, and flashes of the vampire he would become streaked in resonance through his eyes.

The choice was made for him as the door opened, just the narrowest of spaces, startling him away as his mother slipped out, clad in her nightgown, long hair plaited down her back.  Her head was bowed as she turned around, and though she knew the Soul Eater was somewhere inside the slim frame, even Buffy couldn't help the sharp intake of breath when she saw the bruising mottling the sculpted line of her cheek.

"William," Anne Burbidge said, surprise at seeing her son sending her hand flying to her face in a vain attempt to mask the remnants of her recent battle.

His hand caught her wrist, preventing her from hiding, and behind the well of tears, Buffy saw the anger etched in his eyes, his dark gaze darting from his mother to the door, and back again.

It was as if some unspoken communication passed between them, an accepted tenor of silence, propriety winning over pain.  Slowly, he released her from his grasp, and straightened, chin lifting as the smallest of sad smiles lifted the corner of his mouth.  "Shall I fetch you a damp cloth?" he queried quietly, visibly cringing as yet another crash came from behind the door.

"That would be…"  She winced in pain as she attempted to smile in kind.  "Thank you."

They had turned from each other, William aimed for the stairwell, Anne toward a door further down the hall, when his voice stopped her, the subdued words that rumbled from his throat constricting Buffy's lungs in vestiges of ache.  "There should be more to life than pain, Mother."  His head bowed as he hesitated at the top of the stairs.  "You deserve that more."

Both women watched as he disappeared into the blackness, his footsteps echoing into silence.  Buffy itched to follow, but her feet remained planted, all awareness that she shared the corridor gone.  The shadows of Spike she kept glimpsing in William were growing stronger as he grew older within the dream, and though she could understand that the vampire would find these events painful to impart, she failed to understand why he feared them as well, why he feared what her reaction might be.  Was she that unforgiving?  Did she seem so unyielding so as not to understand about cowardice?  He knew how she had run at the first mention of her death at the Master's hands and didn't fault her for it.  She had run after killing Angel because she couldn't face her life in Sunnydale, and he made no mention of it.

Why was it so hard for him to think that she would not relate to this?

"Isn't he delicious?"

It took her a moment for Buffy to realize that _she was the one being addressed, and slowly turned her head to see Anne Burbidge staring at her.  No, not Anne, she corrected, recognizing the gleam in those blue depths.  The Soul Eater.  Back in control._

"He's a good man," she replied simply.

"But you are not so good," the Soul Eater crooned, and stepped forth, smiling through the bruises, no longer aware or caring of the pain.  Its gaze swept over her, its nostrils flaring in hunger.  "Although quite tasty in your own right."

"You'll never know."

"That's what he said.  Right before I reached into his chest and played ping pong with his lungs."  Before the Slayer could react, the other woman was standing before her, a slim hand locked in palsy around Buffy's shoulder, causing the young woman to grimace in pain.  "You are bold for one about to die.  Is it true then?  Do you wish for death?"

"Only yours," she hissed, and wrenched herself free.

*************

"Willow!"

The alarm in the teenager's voice pulled the redhead from the spell they had just about been ready to perform, hurrying her steps as she darted to the side of the bed.  On the mattress, Spike still slept as if dead, unmoved from his original position, but Buffy was currently muttering, thrashing against her pillow, her right shoulder jerking spasmodically as if she was struggling to get away.

As they watched, a crimson stain began to spread along the thin fabric of the Slayer's top, saturating the seam in thin rivers.  Immediately, Willow bent forward and ripped the cotton open, baring the jagged cut that now adorned the young woman's golden flesh.  "Oh, my goddess," she murmured, eyes widening, and used the torn material to begin mopping up the blood.  "Giles!" she called.  "We better wait on that resurrection!  I've got a feeling we're about to be clocking some extra air miles!"

"Do you want me to wake them?" Dawn asked, her voice almost a squeak.

She was answered by a worried Watcher now present at the bed.  "Do it," he ordered, and waited as the younger Summers reached into the leather sac to extract a handful of the powder inside.  

Murmuring under her breath, she tossed it over the sleeping couple, her breath catching…holding…pausing in expectation, only to be released in a voluble stream when nothing happened.  "What's going on, Willow?" she asked tremulously.  "Why didn't that work?  You said that would work.  Why aren't they waking up?"

Feeling the blood ebbing beneath her fingertips, the redhaired witch glanced at the now relaxed face of her friend before flickering over to the vampire's.  Oh, Spike, she thought, the worry carving her features in distress.  What the hell did we do?

To be continued in Chapter 31: From an Unextinguish'd Hearth…


	31. From an Unextinguish'd Hearth

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy has witnessed Spike's father assault on a young woman as well as seen the results of abuse his mother received at William Sr.'s hands, while back at Cortina's cavern, when a wound appeared on the Slayer's shoulder, the incantation to break the spell around the pair of sleeping lovers failed…

*************

"Willow…what did you _do_?"  Giles' voice was crisp, slivering against the cavern walls in tiny blades that sent shivers down the redhead's spine, and she visibly shrunk beneath his steady gaze, her face screwing up in anticipation of her protest, shoulders folding into her body in a manner reminiscent of Tara. 

"It was just a little extra in the sleep spell for Spike," she argued.  "Nothing major, just a…signpost really, on where his dreams would go.  Kind of like, yoo hoo, over here."

"But they're not waking up," chimed in Dawn.  "You said you could wake them up."  Her voice was rising, hysteria beginning to set in.  Although it had occurred to the teenager more than once since the story of the Soul Eaters came out that she could feasibly lose Buffy, or Spike, or even both, she'd never imagined that that would happen because of Willow's magic.

"And I can," the redhead assured, straightening slightly.  "It's just going to need me to go in by the back door instead of being all upfront about it."

"What kind of 'extra' are we talking about here?"  Giles was not ready to let go the issue of the spell, and folded his arms across his chest, hands tucked under his armpits, as he waited for a response.

"Spike wanted to dream about some things in his past," she explained.  "So I mixed it up with a memory spell that I knew to direct him."

From the far wall, a snort drifted to their ears and all eyes turned to look at Dolly.  "Amateurs," she muttered, shaking her head.  It had been the first time she'd spoken since the spell had started, and her disgust with the current situation was apparent in the stiff set of her shoulders.

"Excuse me?" asked Willow.

"You heard me," the demon said.  "You humans keep messing around with magic when you haven't the faintest clue of what you're really tapping into.  I stand by what I said.  You can have all the fancy titles you want, but when you get down to brass tacks, you're just a bunch of amateurs."

"Hey!  Where do you get off saying stuff like that?"  The young witch bridled in the face of the accusation, momentarily forgetting about her fear of Giles.  "I thought it was pretty ingenious what I did, and do you have any idea how many times Buffy has saved the world?  And died for it?  Not to mention coming back---."

"Fine.  I'll amend my observation.  She's got the clock to call herself a pro, and maybe Ripper here when he's not burying himself in doubts, but you, little girl, are messing with powers that you don't understand."

"But I do---."

"Which is why your friends are now waking up from this little drabble of yours, right?"  Dolly rolled her eyes.  "Not that I'm one who hasn't flown by the seat of her pants in her time, but at least I don't go messing around in my so-called friends' heads without knowing the repercussions of what I'm doing."

"Enough!" Giles ordered, the single word cleaving the tension between the two in a vigorous wake.  "I refuse to waste what little time we have in petty bickering so if the pair of you would kindly shelve your estimations of the other for two minutes, perhaps we could concentrate on the matter at hand."  His body opened, his feet taking him closer to Willow.  "You said you did a memory spell.  Why?"

"Because Spike asked me to.  I don't know why.  I didn't think I had time for playing at Columbo, so I didn't press.  But he wanted me to make him dream about specific things, so I just mixed up the spell a little bit.  I didn't think it would do any harm."

"Well, I'd say not being able to wake them qualifies as harm, wouldn't you?" sniped Dolly.

"I said, that's enough," Giles said tightly, then pressed his lips together as his brain worked over their current dilemma.  "You set them on a specific path," he finally mused out loud.  "We can't rouse them because they haven't reached their destination yet.  That must be it."

"But Buffy's hurt," Dawn interjected.  "Doesn't that mean the Soul Eater is messing with them in the dreams again?"

"It would appear so."

"Um, guys?"  The soft cadence of Tara's voice captured their attention and the group looked over at the blonde witch hovering at the bed's side.  She lifted a tremulous finger and pointed at the now-still form of the Slayer.  "Look."

In the face of the quarreling, they had been diverted from the throes of Buffy's dreaming, and had missed the abrupt dissolution of her muted sleep battle.  The blood still stained the skin of her exposed shoulder, but that was not the detail that Tara was attempting to point out to them.

The source of the scarlet, the gash that had suddenly appeared on the Slayer's flesh, was gone.

*************

The skirmish had been far too brief.

As soon as she'd freed herself from the Soul Eater's grasp, Buffy's fist had lashed out instinctively, connecting with the delicate jaw of the older woman with a satisfying crack that told the Slayer what she'd been so desperately hoping for since realizing her strength failed her during Mr. Burbidge's assault.  Although she was without her capabilities during the course of the memories playing out in Spike's head, in the interludes that lapsed between the scenes, she was all Buffy, with all her fortitude and every fighting skill she'd acquired in the six years since she was Chosen.  Her only hindrance at this point was the restrictive clothing weighing her down, but that was something she could work with, she decided, as she saw the glimmer of hate sparkle in the Soul Eater's eyes.

"He is your warrior, you know," the creature said, the lightness of her tone belying the hardness of her aspect.  "He wishes to protect you from anything that might hurt you.  Including his past.  Are you enjoying the ride?"

"Can't say it rates anything near to Space Mountain, but it's definitely been…interesting."

"He would die for you."

"I know."

"Would you die for him?"

Nobody had ever asked that of her before, not about Spike, and for a moment, Buffy faltered.  "I love Spike," she said.  "I'd do anything to protect him."

"Yes, but would you _die for him?  If the choice came down to his survival or yours, would you sacrifice your life, your calling, your _sister_, so that __he would live?"  She moved closer as she spoke, blue eyes boring into the Slayer's with a hungry fervor, trapping Buffy in a glutinous mire around her limbs, driving any thought of escape from her head.  "Do you __deserve to die for him?"_

"What kind of question is that?  Are you deliberately trying to win the Miss Obtuse crown here?"  This wasn't fitting the pattern, she realized.  Never before had Buffy felt so helpless in one of their dreams, and briefly wondered if this was the reason Spike had been so reluctant to share with her the nocturnal visits he received from the Soul Eater prior to their flight from Sunnydale.  She felt frozen by the demon's words, fighting to maintain a semblance of her own head, but it was a losing battle, her words a feeble attempt to counter the thing's approach.

"Your darkness often exceeds his.  Especially now.  It was the birth of the light within him that freed us from our captivity."

"What…light?  What are you talking about?"

"My William's soul." She was right before her now, eyes level, the faintest of smiles curling her lips.  "Its emergence---or should I say, _re-emergence?---shattered the fetters that had bound us for so long."_

"He is not _your_ William."  She spoke with gritted teeth, the sweat beginning to bead on her forehead from the exertion of returning control to her body, and felt the smallest of fissures begin to seam in the Soul Eater's control.

The demon's hand returned to Buffy shoulder, the long nail of her index finger sinking through the fabric of the Slayer's dress, making contact with her skin as it sliced through it with searing slowness.  "Ah, but he is," she crooned.  "Or he will be.  Once we have consumed him."

It was the smell of her own blood that broke through the immobilizing charm, and Buffy's arm shot up, knocking the Soul Eater's hand from her body, sending the demon reeling against the wall with a dull thud that shook the heavy panels.  "You'll never have him," she vowed, and launched herself forward, ignoring the pain the gash was sending down her side to tackle the other woman in a flurry of skirts and long hair.

The encumbrance of clothing kept either of them from fighting effectively, but Buffy took pleasure in the wince of pain she heard squeak from the hellbitch's throat as the Slayer's elbow shot backward and into her opponent's ribcage.  Too bad Spike's going to miss the grand finale, she thought grimly, and rolled away, preparing to rise again to finish the Soul Eater off once and for all.  When a strand of golden hair fell across her eyes, she grimaced and blinked…

*************

…and found herself staring into a fireplace, the heat from the roaring fire flushing her cheeks in crimson.

Her head swiveled.  The drawing room.  She was back in the Burbidge drawing room, minus the milling party guests.  Except not quite alone.  

Hovering by the slightly ajar door, the portly messenger who had guided her path inside the house to begin with, then led her to the study to meet up with Spike's father, seemed to be waiting for her to notice him, his mouth widening into a smile when her eyes finally settled on his form.

"The others will be along momentarily," he said.  "I trust you are comfortable, Miss Summers?  No ill effects from our journey?"

His question regarding her wellbeing brought into startling relief the lack of pain in her shoulder, and Buffy's hand automatically shot up to touch the joint, turning it within its socket to test its soreness.  There was none.  The burning from the Soul Eater's attack was completely gone, and somehow, she knew that if the confines of her clothing were stripped away, her skin would be unmarked.  "Who are you?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

"I thought that was obvious," he replied.  "I am your guide."  Footsteps in the hallway turned his head and his smile vanished.  "I'm afraid duty calls," he said, and pulled the door open enough to reveal Spike stepping inside.

Buffy noticed that he appeared even older than he had before---his shoulders just slightly broader, his step just a tad slower---and rose when he rushed forward, recognition flaring in his gaze as his arms pulled her tightly against him.  Over his shoulder, she saw the guide slip through the doorway, and made a mental note to ask Spike about it later.

"Luv…pet…Slayer…"  His voice was muffled in her hair, his lips brushing against the tresses that were piled in a careful knot on top of her head, and it hitched uncomfortably in his chest as he fought to keep the gnawing fear in his stomach at bay.

"What's wrong?"  She pulled from his embrace, just enough to gaze up into him, to see the blue peering from behind the glasses in anguish.  

"You're still…her…Miss Owen…oh god…"  His lashes fluttered closed, and Spike leaned his forehead against hers, a heavy weight that seemed to press into her shoulders, leaving her surprisingly tired.  "Luv, we don't have much time.  There's things I need to tell you, that you need to know before this all goes cock-eyed again and I'm stuck inside the poof's skull---."

"I saw what he did to your mother---."

"This is so much more than that."  He lifted his head.  "You're not even wonderin' why you're still here?"

Buffy frowned.  "I thought I was here to watch.  Wasn't that the whole reason for getting Willow to do the spell?"

"I meant…here.  In my house.  Rather, in _his_ house.  As _her."  A sound from the hallway jerked his head, and his body stilled as he listened, hesitating only a fraction before returning to look down at her.  "He brought her back, you see.  After word got out that she'd been…that she was no longer…"  His Victorian self was struggling to voice the words, and Spike yanked himself away, running his fingers through the disheveled locks of his hair as he began to pace the room.  He may have looked like William, and his words may have sounded like William's, but every feral movement of that lean body was pure vampire, his frustration pouring from the membranes of his skin with a musky scent that hung disingenuously in the air._

Realization dawned on Buffy, the century-old shame of a woman wronged cloaking her shoulders in righteousness.  "I'm his mistress," she said flatly.

"Yes.  No.  I don't know."  His voice was ragged, and his blue eyes blazed as he looked over at her.  "I did everything in my power to stay away from here after I learned about his…about how he…when I saw the way he…  I only came back when school was out, or when my mum asked me to."  Spike fell into the chair opposite the seat she'd been sitting in, burying his head in his hands.  "Mum always seemed so concerned for her, clucking about like some mother hen.  I never knew for sure if she…how much she was aware of.  If she…knew what went on between Miss Owen and my father."

Slowly, Buffy sank back into her chair.  "What was her first name?" she asked quietly.  "This Miss Owen stuff is getting kind of clumsy, don't you think?  Especially since it looks I'm going to be walking around in her---let me tell you---_very _uncomfortable shoes for a while longer."

"Melody," he mumbled, and lifted his eyes to look at her.  "My mum called her Melly after she came to live here."

"Wasn't this kind of thing, I dunno, frowned on back then?" she asked.

"Yes.  Mother didn't care.  She…hurt for Miss Owen, and when my father suggested they do something to _help_---," his voice dripped in acid with the word, as if detesting the very memory it dredged up in him, "---she leapt at the opportunity and offered Miss Owen a position within the household.  As a…companion, of sorts."

"And your father still---?"

"Yes."  Spike wasn't about to let her finish the thought, knowing what she was asking even before she'd opened her mouth.  "Miss Owen was only one of many, of course, but unfortunately, his favorite, it would seem."  The vestiges of his past was creeping back into his speech, foretelling the advent of yet another episode in the vampire's "This Is Your Life" show, and Buffy stiffened, instinctively reaching for his hands where they lay helpless in his lap.

"You don't have to worry about me getting hurt," she assured, forcing her voice to soothe as best she could.  "For some reason, I don't think I can.  After you left that last time, I had this fight with the Soul Eater---."

His head snapped up, Spike leaping back to the fore, eyes searching hers as his hands clutched at hers.  "Fight?  Why?  Are you all right?  If that bitch hurt you---."

"I'm fine.  Now.  She got a blow in, but when I showed up here, it was gone.  That's why I don't think---."

"Melly?"

The feminine voice came from the bowels of the house, drifting delicately from above to reach the two pairs of ears in the drawing room.  Immediately, Spike stiffened, shoulders going back as he tore his hands from Buffy's, the demon disappearing under the guise of William.

"You won't tell Mother, will you?" he asked.  "I could not bear it if she found out."

The request came from nowhere, and the Slayer frowned, wishing they'd had just a little bit longer to talk about their present circumstances.  What was it she was supposed to keep secret, she wondered, but the look on the young man's face was so earnest, so heartbreakingly sincere, his blue eyes unable to meet hers as he suddenly seemed captivated by the flames in the fireplace, that she felt the urgent need to assure him of her loyalty.  "Of course not," she said slowly, and was rewarded by the corner of his mouth lifting in obvious relief.  

His hand fell to the small table at his chair's side, toying with the book she only now noticed sat there.  "Mother needs me to be strong," he said.  "I do not wish to fail her."

These were sentiments she was familiar with.  "You're a good man, William," Buffy said, and reached out a thin hand to rest it gently on his knee.

He jerked at her touch, leaping from the chair and unsettling the table beside him.  Clumsily, he circled around so that the seat he'd just vacated was between them, only then allowing his gaze to rise and meet the confusion on her face.  "She is calling for you," he said stiffly.  "You should not tarry here or she will worry."

She had opened her mouth to respond, the words already forming on her tongue to say she didn't care, when it happened.  Like someone had grabbed her from behind, yanking her backward with enough force to make her senses whirl, yet the room before her never wavered, her slim body never moved.  She could almost hear the cage door slamming in front of her, locking her inside her own skull, crippling her will as she felt another presence step forward, soft…intelligent…_Melly__…?_

"Walk with me."  Her voice was so low, tremulous even, with an English accent that almost made the imprisoned Slayer smile.  Hey, it's Stuffy Buffy, she thought, but then broke from her amusement to focus on the adrenaline that had suddenly begun to course through her body's veins.  She's really scared, came the realization.  But of what?

"It would not…you will be…he has already retired for the evening."  William struggled in his attempt to reply, but the sense that this was a familiar transpiration between the pair slithered into Buffy's awareness as she found herself scrutinizing the young man's face.

"Is it so much to ask then?" Melly queried.  "Perhaps he waits.  To reach Miss Anne, I must pass his room.  He will not approach me if he hears that I am not alone.  You know this."

That's when it made sense to her, this quavering dread that had seemed to settle within her stomach.  Miss Owen was as much a captive as Buffy was at the moment, only hers was within her circumstances, trapped in the home of a man she hated, whose touch curdled what little food she was able to ingest, invoked recurring nightmares she fought to suppress from the other staff.  The only one to know was William, her co-conspirator in his father's secrets, and they shared their shame in a consoling silence, a vain attempt to protect the delicate Mrs. Burbidge from even more unpleasantness.

His gaze fell, drifting to the scattered pieces of paper that had slipped from the book onto the hearth, the light from the fireplace dancing across his meticulous script in a frenetic caress.  He clearly wanted to say no, to deny the responsibility she was thrusting at him, and looked for all intents and purposes that he would, when she spoke again.

"Please," she asked.  "I…need you."

Buffy almost winced as the entreaty caused the young man to crumple before her eyes, his resolve to dissipate.  Melly sure knew what strings to pull, she thought with growing annoyance at the woman she had never met.  No way in hell can William ignore that.  Shoot, there would be no way _Spike_ could refuse it; what chance did a properly taught, Victorian gentleman have against a damsel in distress?

"Of course," he murmured, but kept his eyes away as he strode for the entrance, holding the door open as he waited for her to go through it.

She hung back, waiting for him to take the lead, and Buffy found herself treading almost noiselessly up the stairs, mimicking William's careful step, even following his example when he purposely skipped one of the risers.  Must be creaky, she thought as they emerged into the hall it seemed she had only just left.  He doesn't want to wake his father.

He stopped just outside a closed door, and the sound of a rocking chair squeaking across floorboards floated through the heavy wood in a hushed whisper that inexplicably raised feelings of warmth within Buffy's breast.  "You should convince her to sleep," he said quietly.  "She will not regain her strength otherwise."

A faint smile rose to her lips.  "She may appear to be fragile," Melly said, "but your mother has a stubborn spirit.  Arguing with her is very much like trying to convince a child to eat his vegetables."

Their shared chuckle was cut short when the squeaking stopped, Anne's voice calling out, "Is that you, Melly?"  Two sets of eyes turned simultaneously toward the door.

"You need to sleep as well," William said carefully, gaze locked on the dark wood.  

"I will."  Her hand was on the doorknob, turning it within her grasp as she heard him begin walking down the hall toward his own room.  "Thank you," she whispered, unsure if he would hear her.

The slightest hitch in his step told her that he did.

*************

Spike had known even before they made the jump forward in his dream what was to come next.

Smoke.

Lots of it.

_Fuck._

Grabbing the handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers in their press as he leapt from the comfort of his bed, William covered his mouth and nose with it as he raced for the door, the adrenaline in his body enlivening Spike's undead flesh---_not really, but that's sure as hell what it felt like_---inside his cranium so that even there he could feel the licks of heat searing into the young man's bare feet.

The smoke was thicker in the hall, and he raced toward his mother's room, not even bothering to knock as he pulled it open, tore inside to witness Anne's inert form on her bed.  Heedless of the need to protect his breathing, he dropped the fabric shielding his face to scoop the small woman into his arms---_Buffy, what about Buffy-- turning and racing for the stairs._

One step.  

Another.  

Hot, hot, so damn hot.  

Get Mother to safety, mustn't let her know that I swore, even in my head.

And they were outside, across the cobbled street, the chill of the night air raising the goosebumps to the young man's flesh that seemed scorched from the flames that were already consuming the interior of the house.

He laid her out along the grass that stretched beside the road, smoothing back the hair from her pale face and sighed in relief when he saw the slight rise in her chest.  Alive, she was alive, thank god she was alive.

_Buffy's__ still inside, Spike raged, and vented his frustration outward, trying to will his former self to hurry back inside, even though he already knew that he would.  _Faster, you wanker, get in there faster.  I'm not havin' Buffy suffer more than she already has…__

And he was back inside, trying not to look at the flames that were pouring out of the drawing room---_stupid bloody poems, should've picked them up_---racing up the stairs two at a time, grateful that Miss Owen's room was the nearest door on the landing.

Pulling it open.   

The air almost as thick inside as it was out.

Peering through the darkness to see her stirring in the bed, struggling against her bedlinens as her body registered something was amiss, even if her mind did not.

At her side.  Helping her to her feet.  Her eyes locked on his in fear.

_Does she see me?  I'm here, luv, you're going to be all right.  So sorry, so sorry, so sorry.  Please don't hate me for this._

Almost dragging her to the door, her body fighting his, William's momentary confusion as to why jerking his head around as she turned toward the corner.

And Spike saw it for the first time in a century---_not it, not really, not fair to call her 'it', not her soddin' fault---through an ashamed William's eyes that he could forget, that he could ever not remember why exactly his father had brought the young woman into the household in the first place._

A resounding crash from downstairs frightened both of them, and Miss Owen---_Buffy, damn it!---_yanked herself away, urging herself toward the cradle, stumbling against the bedframe as she did so.  Her head connected solidly with the four-poster frame, and William barely caught her before her knees gave out, the line of blood on her forehead dripping into her eyes.

"We must hurry," he hissed, trying to get her to stand on her own feet, his own consternation at so much physical contact with a female not his mother battling his need to save her from the blaze.  "Can you walk?"

"I'm not…leaving her," she gasped, a slim hand wiping the blood from her eyes in order to better peer through the cloudy air.

It was then they heard his yells, oddly enough coming from his study downstairs, and in spite of the growing heat within the room, icy shivers ran down both their spines.  William met Melly's eyes---Spike could see Buffy floundering somewhere within those terrified depths, _hold on, luv, the Towering Inferno portion of our little escapade is almost over_---and he remembered the barred hall, the fire that was already beginning to creep up the stairs.  It would be possible to save his father if he left right then to do it, but any longer would mean certain death for both of them.

She knew.

She saw it in his eyes.

And she made his decision for him.

"Save _her_," Melly whispered.  "I will manage myself."

Even as he relived it, the moments following were still a blur for Spike.  He remembered grabbing the baby from the bassinet, but the time between doing so and depositing it on the grass outside next to his mother and Miss Owen's vomiting form evaporated from his grasp.  It was only when Anne turned her head, looked at him with those eyes that so intimately resembled his own, and asked, "Is everyone safe?," did he snap back into the moment, lifting his chin to look at the house in which he'd been raised burning across the street, his hatred for the man he knew was still locked inside singeing him in a malevolence that shocked his gentle soul.

"Yes," he murmured, and collapsed onto the ground…

To be continued in Chapter 32: A Corpse Within Its Grave…


	32. A Corpse Within Its Grave

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Trapped within the memory dreams that Spike requested Willow to orchestrate, Buffy has learned firsthand how William had been forced to deal with facing his father's infidelity on a daily basis by the presence of Miss Owen within his home, and how the pair of them had allowed his father to die in the fire that destroyed his family home…

*************

As her chest spasmed, the acid from her stomach shredding the lining of her throat even as the heat from the burning house behind her licked up her legs, irritation colored Buffy's thoughts in titian hues.  _I am sooo going to have a word with Spike when this is all over_, she grumbled.  _Lots of them.__  Some of them will even have more than one syllable.  Because in the world of bad ideas, this little dream jaunt definitely rates Guinness mention._

She was still locked inside Melly Owen's head, unable to do more than peer through smoke-stained eyes at the baby that was already asleep on the grass, the infant oblivious to the growing crowd or the inferno from which it had just been rescued.  Anne Burbidge was cradling it against her side, crooning to it in a reedy voice---_something about early one morning?---and she could feel Melly's reluctance to disturb them as a sticky pull at her muscles._

_A baby.__  Spike's half-sister.  Well, William's half-sister.  Wow._

She couldn't see his face.  Upon emerging with the baby, he had promptly collapsed to his knees, his head dropping so that his forehead was almost resting on the ground, his fingers fisted into the grass as if he feared letting go would somehow send him reeling from the earth's surface.  He could've been praying, and for some reason, Buffy wasn't convinced he wasn't, knowing now just what exactly had transpired between him and his father.  It was guilt he had cast aside once he'd become a vampire, but for what she suspected was another ten years ahead of him, William was just starting to feel the mass bearing down on his soul, the knowledge that his deliberate negligence had killed his father.

More than anything, she wanted to go to his side, hold his head in her lap and smooth back the hair from his pained gaze, wipe away the lines that she knew would line his face after this event.  It wasn't all his fault.  Melly Owen had played him.  She had chosen the exact words necessary to seduce young William into choosing his half-sibling instead of his father, taunting that latent desire to punish the elder Burbidge for his misdeeds against his mother.  What his feelings were for Miss Owen, Buffy had no idea, but there was no denying the sense of responsibility for her current position that he wore around his flesh like shackles.  She knew he blamed himself for not stopping the assault that night in the study, and wished fervently that young William could understand that there was nothing he could've done without getting seriously injured himself.

The clickety-clack of wooden wheels alternating with slowing hooves on the cobbled street diverted her attention, and she turned her head in time to see a carriage roll to a stop at her side.  In the driver's seat, with the reins of the horses hanging loosely in his hands, sat the portly messenger from earlier, and Buffy felt the world seem to sharpen around her, her muscles suddenly her own again, Melly Owen banished to the wayside.

Immediately, she straightened, ready to go to William's side.

"There is no time, Miss Summers," the messenger said, his voice quiet but firm.  "We have places to see, people to go to."

"No," she argued, and her tone cut through the smoke that billowed into the street with a clarity that surprised even her.  "I'm going to Spike.  He needs me right now."

"That's _not_ your Spike, and you can go to him when our journey is complete," he replied.  "For now, our next stop awaits."

Her chin lifted in defiance.  "You know, I'm getting a little tired of being bossed around here.  I think maybe I need to be putting my foot down on your dream hopping.  Like, on your neck maybe."

He surprised her by chuckling.  "I am not ordering you about.  I am guiding your path so that you will see what it is he wishes you to."

"But that's just it.  That wish?  Gone.  Poof.  Spike changed his mind about it when he saw us being turned into Howdy Doody back there. We kind of like being stringless.  People who try telling us what to do tend to get our backs up.  Not to mention our fists."

"There is nothing new that is transpiring here," he said.  "These are merely the trails of his memory that he wishes to lead you down.  I am merely---."

"---my guide," she interrupted, folding her arms across her breasts in annoyance.  "Blah, blah, blah.  That's the line you've been spouting since I got here.  Only thing is, we're ready to call this whole thing off and start over, but we can't for some weird reason which I'm sure you are just dying to explain."

"It is simple.  You cannot stray from the path once you have set upon it."  His smile faded, his mouth thin.  "Now, Miss Summers, really.  Time is wasting.  I must request you get into the carriage before I am forced to place you in there myself."

"And I told you---."

The vise around her chest came from nowhere, and Buffy stiffened, incapable of breathing more than a few shallow puffs of air at a time before getting light-headed.  A quick glance down confirmed that there was nothing actually there, but she'd been around Willow's magic long enough to know what it felt like.  OK.  Maybe he'd actually been serious about the time to go thing.

"Get into the carriage," the messenger commanded, all traces of joviality gone from his demeanor.

She had no choice but to comply, stumbling forward until her hand caught the handle on the door.  Only then did the constriction around her lungs ease, but even as she straightened, trying to regain her composure, she felt it threaten to return, the merest hint that she would revolt its only impetus to do so.

His voice floated back to her as she collapsed onto the seat, gulping at the air with impotent anger.  "Our trip will be quite short," he said.  "Do please relax."

Do please relax, she mimicked in her head, and kicked half-heartedly at the seat in front of her, noting with a smile of satisfaction the grunt elicited from the messenger as the force of it jarred him slightly.  She had her Slayer strength back for now; she could just hop out and tear the guy's head off.  It wasn't really murder if it happened in her dreams, right?  Except she wouldn't, and she knew it.  One foot outside the carriage and she'd be like a guppy flopping around on the road trying to breathe.  It didn't look like she was going to have any choice but to follow.

For now.

*************

Even as he felt William's control dissipate, Spike knew she wasn't there.  His head lifted, his tired eyes searching the side of the street for her familiar form though he knew it was in vain, only to light on the Soul Eater, now in power of his mother's faculties, as it sat up on the grass, pulling the baby roughly onto its lap.

"She's so much lovelier in the flesh than she is in your memories," she singsonged.  One finger outlined the chubby cheeks, flicking casually across the closed lids.  "Do you purposely remember her as less than she was?  Does it make it easier to bear?"

"I don't remember her at all, you bitch," Spike replied through gritted teeth, and rose to his feet.  He wasn't going to let her see weakness in him, not after what she'd done to Buffy, and if she started playing her little mind games, well, then, he'd just have to play a little rough himself.

The eyes so like his own lifted, gazing steadily at him.  "But you do.  That's why you did this, isn't it?  To show the dark one that you were really a paper tiger as a human?  The head of the house by default.  Because you chose to save his bastard child instead of _him_."  She smiled, but there was no mirth in it…only a glittering hunger of satisfaction.  "The child you could've prevented from entering the world in the first place if you'd only faced him like a man that night instead of tucking your tail and hiding behind your mother's skirts."

The muscles in his jaws tensed, his hands knotted into fists at his sides, and Spike deliberately tore his gaze from hers, choosing instead to stare at the house burning across the street.  "Wanker deserved what he got," he said simply.  He couldn't let her taunts get to him.

Even if he felt each and every one of her words as truthful daggers that sliced into his unbeating heart with their candor.

"William didn't think so," she continued.  "He carried this night with him to his grave.  Do you not remember all those nightmares he had?  How desperately he clung to his fancy words and delusions of beauty because he needed to forget just how black his nights really were?  He was practically drowning himself in poetry by the time he died."

"He loved it."

"It was an escape."

"S'nothin' wrong with that."

"Anne didn't think so."  The mention of his mother grabbed Spike's chin and turned it to face her, eyes steeled against her verbal attack even as he felt his resolve weakening.  "Oh, certainly, she was supportive of his endeavors.  She loved William more than anything.  But even she could see how he used them to avoid facing the real world, choosing instead to bury himself in fantasies."

"Leave.  Her.  Out of this."

The Soul Eater laughed, a crystalline fragment that woke the infant in her lap.  "I do adore how protective you are of her, even as a vampire," she said lightly.  Her hand settled over the baby's mouth, dampening its cries with a casual aplomb, not heeding the fact that her fingers were effectively blocking its nose as well.  Spike's gaze was riveted by the tiny figure's struggling and he only half-heard the words that continued to tumble from the hellbitch's mouth.

"It still stings, doesn't it?  A century may have passed but you still carry the hurt of her words within you.  And not an ocean of bloodshed, or the thousands of begging cries you've had since, have erased---."

He darted forward then, snatching the baby from her arms, watching as its skin shaded back to a fragile pink from the icy blue the lack of oxygen had done to it.

She laughed.  "Silly, silly William---."

"It's _Spike_!" he spat.

"It's only a dream," she said, ignoring his interruption.  "Merely a fragment of your past made manifest for these split seconds.  Nothing I do now will change what happened to her in your real world."

She was right, and he knew it, but that didn't mean he had to stand there and watch her suffocate the infant without a care.  "I never hurt her," Spike argued.

"No.  You're right."  The Soul Eater smiled.  "You saved that for her mother."

*************

The short trip was straight out of that Willy Wonka movie, she decided.  Like the psychedelic boat ride from hell that had scared her so much as a kid, images flashed by the carriage windows in a frenzied blur, allowing her glimpses into moments that left her head spinning, caused the gooseflesh to crawl over skin like feeding maggots.  It was probably her punishment for lashing out, Buffy decided, because none of it made sense to her, not in the context of Spike's dream.  Just residual magic crap, she thought.  It doesn't mean a thing.

By the time the coach came to a stop, her stomach was in knots, anxiety about what could possibly be coming next twisting inside of her like a writhing snake.  They weren't done, which meant more stuff Spike had wanted her to see.  She could only hope that the worst of it was over.

A quick glance out the window afforded Buffy a familiar sight; a carefully groomed cemetery splayed out before her, the overcast sky doing nothing to dampen the riot of color the various flowers painted along the ground.  In the near distance, she saw a small crowd assembled over a freshly dug grave, with Anne Burbidge at its core.  

"Where's Spike?" she asked, leaning out the window, hazel eyes scanning the landscape in search of his familiar form. 

"Master William is…about," the messenger said, and all of a sudden, he was at the door, reaching up to offer his hand to her in guidance.

Hesitantly, she took it, and as she climbed out of the carriage, she noted she was still in the nightclothes she'd worn at the Burbidge home.  Buffy frowned.  "Um, not that I'm complaining because it's infinitely more comfortable, but isn't this just a tad inappropriate for a funeral?"  She gestured abstractly to her dress.  "It's not even black.  I think they might notice."

"You are not really here," he replied.  "For this portion of the journey, you are merely an observer."

Great, she thought wryly.  What a trade-off.  Can't get hurt, but can't talk to Spike.  Just wonderful.

"This way," the guide said, and began leading her around the periphery of the grass, circumventing the solemn ceremony in favor of leading her to a cluster of carriages waiting near the graveyard's entrance.

A quick glance over her shoulder caused the Slayer to frown.  Their own carriage was gone.  "Where are we going?" she queried. 

"We are there."  He stopped, bowing slightly to indicate she should proceed ahead of him.

Her steps were tentative, her gaze searching the gathering of vehicles for whatever it was he expected her to find, skittering slightly as a horse's neigh caught her off-guard.  It was then she heard the voices, and froze in her place, muscles locked as if she feared getting caught.

"I find it quite farcical," the first voice said.  Female.  Young.  Probably even younger than her.  "Did you _see William?  He was actually __crying."_

"Well, it _is_ his father's funeral."  Another girl, a little older maybe.  This one sounded vaguely familiar, and Buffy realized it was probably one of the women from the party that had been annoying her so.

The sarcasm that laced the reply was palpable in the air.  "And we know _why this is happening today, don't we?"_

"You shouldn't tell tales---."

"It's not a tale if it's truth."

"You were not there.  There could have been…circumstances."

There was a derisive laugh.  "There were no circumstances.  We both know Mr. Burbidge died because William is a coward.  If Melody Owen had enough time to save that---."

"Don't say it!"

"---_child_ of hers, then there is no excuse for William to not have done the same for his father.  He is a man, after all."  There was a snicker.  "At least, that is what he would have us believe."

Anger roiled in Buffy's stomach, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides as she automatically marched forward toward the voices.  Two little bitches were about to get a huge chunk of her mind, if not a piece of her fists at the same time; she didn't care if she was in stupid Victorian England, or if they were supposed to be proper young ladies who didn't resort to that kind of thing.  They had no right to say that about…

"…Spike!"  She came up short as she rounded the corner of the carriage, suddenly faced with a pale William hugging himself against the large wheel.  His eyes were closed, his face anguished, and she could see the battle playing out in the planes of his face as he fought to maintain his composure.  Behind his glasses, tears clung to his long lashes, hanging like frozen dewdrops, and she saw him swallow once…twice…a third time, before dropping his chin to his chest.

"Spike…?" Buffy repeated, more softly this time, reaching a tentative hand to his hair, but stopped when the laughter of the two women came drifting to them.  When his shoulders visibly slumped further at the sound, her eyes widened.

William had heard every word.

"It is time to go, Miss Summers."

The messenger's voice did nothing to stop the prickle of tears from coming into Buffy's eyes, but slowly, she withdrew her hand and straightened.  It wasn't right, she thought.  None of them had any fucking clue what had happened to poor William, and yet he still remained the object of their mockery.  Her heart ached for the gentle soul before her, and she had to fight her every instinct not to throw her arms around him, to try and convince him that he wasn't a monster, that those bitches didn't know what they were talking about.  She wasn't really there, she had to remember.  She'd probably just go through him like Patrick Swayze did in _Ghost._

"You didn't say watching was going to hurt more than actually being there," she accused bitterly as they walked away.

"I don't believe I said anything at all," came the reply.

They trudged in silence for a minute, distancing themselves from the carriages, before she spoke up again.  "So where to this time?" she asked resignedly.

The messenger stopped and pointed.  "Over there."

In the space of time it took to lift her head, the world around Buffy darkened, day suddenly becoming dusk.  The nightgown she had been wearing was replaced with the confining strictures of another dress, this one black, a long jacket shielding her arms from an advancing night chill.  She was standing at the edge of the cemetery, but the crowd was long gone, leaving behind only a seated Anne, with William hovering at her side.

As she took the first step forward, the rushing in her head she'd experienced when Melly Owen had first come to the fore back in the Burbidge drawing room recurred, halting her step as she swayed in the invisible breeze.  _Crap_, Buffy thought.  _This is so not the time for this.  Can't she just stay away long enough for me to talk to Spike for one minute?_

But her words were locked beneath Melly's awareness, and the Slayer was forced to watch from behind lowered eyes as she approached the mother and son.

"The carriage awaits," Melly said quietly, carefully avoiding William's gaze to concentrate on his mother.

Anne sighed, her head bent.  "I am shamed to confess my relief that we do not have to return to our home," she said.  "To face it now without my William's presence would be unbearable."

Gingerly, the younger William knelt before his mother, smiling diffidently as he took her hands in his, gazing lovingly up into her face.  "I will be there, Mother," he vowed.  "I will always be there."

The gentle pat she placed on his cheek was accompanied by a small smile.  "I know.  You are a good son.  But that does not stop me from missing your father."

Melly looked up then and Buffy could see the confusion flicker behind William's eyes.

"But…he…"  The words _hurt you hung there in the air, unable to be voiced, and the young man's mouth settled into a perplexed frown.  She could see his mind working, his will working to exert itself and try again, and held her breath when his lips parted to speak.  "You cannot tell me you will…yearn for his…attentions.  Life with him was…disruptive, and…and…__harsh, and---."_

"Enough."  The strength in her voice surprised both of them.  "I will not have you speak of your father that way."

"But he---."

"I said, enough!"  Anne shook her head, extracting her hands from her son's.  "You will show respect for him, even though he is not here to demand it himself.  It is the least you owe him."

"I _owe_ him?"  His incredulity drove him to his feet.  "I…_owe_ him?"  William's gaze lifted, meeting Melly's, silently beseeching her to step forward and voice her support for him in this.  You know what kind of a man he _really_ was, he seemed to be saying.  Please…help me.

When Buffy felt the young woman duck her head, deliberately sucking in the air around her to refrain from speaking, her fury erupted and the Slayer raged within her confines at her host's silence.  _Say something!  Help him out here!  He saved your baby's life and this is how you repay him?_

But she didn't.  She held her tongue.  

And she abandoned the man who had liberated her from her prison.

It took William only a moment to understand his ally was gone, and his head tilted in quizzical sadness as the solidarity they had shared prior to the fire shattered in piercing splinters around him.  He was alone on this.  There would be no support of what he knew to be true, and if he'd thought that he would be able to find consolation for his transgression within the bosom of his family, he knew now that he'd been wrong.

"My apologies, Mother," he mumbled, ducking his gaze.  "I should not have spoken so.  It must be…my grief.  It shall not happen again."

His regret was enough to soften Anne's features, and she reached up to take his hand back in hers.  "It is understandable," she murmured, trying to soothe away the ache in his voice through her touch.  "You loved him as much as I did.  It just…saddens me that you…were not able to save _him_ as well.  We have both lost a great deal today."  Mrs. Burbidge rose to her feet, leaning heavily on her son's shoulder and closing her eyes as they began making their way to the carriage.  "I am certain my William will forgive us for failing him," Buffy heard her say as they passed her.  

To be continued in Chapter 33: By the Incantation of This Verse…


	33. By the Incantation of This Verse

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Even more memories have come to the foreground---William's witnessing of the girls mocking him for failing to save his father, the guilt laid upon him by his mother for the same in spite of the abuse she suffered at his hands, and Melly's silence in supporting the young Burbidge in his claims of having done a good thing---while back at Cortina's caves, the gang is trying to get Buffy and Spike out of the spell…

*************

They stared at the still form of the Slayer for what seemed an eternity.  No more thrashing, no more muttering, no more blood, and though they were relieved at the seemingly normal façade she now exhibited, each and every one of them was worried.  The disappearance of her wound didn't make sense. 

And not making sense was never good.

"Maybe Buffy and Spike have killed the Soul Eaters," Dawn offered, the tentative smile on her lips not masking the fear that still lingered in her eyes.

"No," Dolly said, sniffing pointedly at the air.  "They're still out there."

"Then, maybe the spell has run its course," Tara suggested softly, swiveling her head to look over at Willow.

"Only one way to find out," the redhead replied.  Taking the bag from Dawn's hands, her thin fingers dipped inside, extracting some of the powder as her lips effortlessly formed the words necessary to wake them.  She tossed it, watching as it settled over them in a fine mist, but as the group waited, watching anxiously for any sign of change, it became increasingly evident that the pair was still locked within a heavy slumber.

"And that would be a big fat no," Willow said with a heavy sigh.  "Which means back door, here we come."

"I don't know why you're bothering," Dolly interjected as she straightened to her full height.  "Let me go get Cort.  She shows up, your magic goes poof.  Problem solved."

"I'm not certain that's our wisest course of action."  Giles lifted his head to gaze at the green demon, his brow wrinkled.

"Sounds pretty wise to me."

"In theory, yes.  But we are in no position to predict what type of effects might occur as a result of disintegrating the spell."  He began to pace around the cavern, his steps long, his body tense.  "By dissolving the fetters of the magic through artificial means---."

"Cort's defenses aren't fake!  Those are the real deal, and you know it."

"I meant, artificial as in outside the realm of magic.  I'm well aware of the…nature of Cortina's abilities."  His voice had suddenly chilled, and the three girls glanced at each other, all of them shrinking slightly from the older man every time he neared.  "What I'm suggesting is that if we were to dissolve the boundaries of the spell without taking the necessary precautions, we could very well leave Buffy and Spike defenseless against the children of the wind.  A shock to their soul system, you could say.  Without the constriction of proper sleep or the rituals of magic, we'd end up losing the pair of them before any of us could react in time."  He stopped, turning to face Willow.  "Gather the supplies you need.  We need to do this as quickly as possible."

Dawn watched as the two witches scurried to their bags, the spell they had been preparing earlier already forgotten.  Her face blanched even paler as her eyes grew luminous.  "What about…Mom?" she asked, her voice tiny.  "Is this…going to…"  She couldn't even bring herself to finish the query, disallowing herself from looking at either her sister at her side or her parent near the witches.

Deliberately, Giles loosened his restraint, relaxing his muscles so that he could approach the young girl as gently as possible.  "We must be prepared for any contingency," he murmured, resting his hand on her shoulder.  "If it comes down to it, you may have to choose."

"Choose?"  It was barely a breath.

"Willow may need help.  If that happens, we won't have the resources necessary to complete the spell to restore your mother, which means…"  He sighed, suddenly weary.  This was the last thing he would ever wish on anyone, let alone someone so young.  To be shown that it might be possible to have your life restored, only to have it snatched away from you, replaced with a dread decision that would leave guilt no matter which way it landed, was a massive burden for the strongest of people.  He had no idea how the young teenager would cope with it.

"The choice will be yours, Dawn," he finally said.  "This is _your_ family here.  Consider it carefully."

*************

Her head was aching.

As Buffy opened her eyes, she found herself greeted with darkness, her head nestled against something hard, her body folded into a clumsy lump as if she'd been tossed aside like a piece of litter and forgotten.  Her eyelids were vibrating from the pain inside her skull, and she winced as she tried to sit up.

The last thing she remembered was watching William walk away with his mother, his head hanging in resignation, the slump of his shoulders clear indication of his defeat.  Her host had taken her time in following, but as she'd taken that first step, the world had slipped away from her, leaving her in a void.

A physical void, that is.  Emotionally, her senses were aflame.

More than anything, Buffy hated Melly Owen at the moment for having the nerve to ask the gentle young man for his aid in releasing her from the prison of her life, but not having the strength to stand by him when he asked for her help in kind.  She had no idea why; the Victorian's feelings were heavily cloaked beneath both propriety and shame.  Maybe it was a fear of losing her position, but she doubted it.  Somehow, that seemed too simple for the feelings that stormed beneath her skin.  Whatever it was, the Slayer hoped that they had haunted the young woman for the rest of her days.  She deserved to suffer for what she had done to William.

Now, though, she was back in control, which actually wasn't a good thing because every move made her muscles scream.  It felt very much like she'd taken on an army of vampires, and lost.  Of course, if she'd lost, then she'd be dead and not experiencing so much damn pain.  What she wouldn't give for some good old-fashioned aspirin right about now.

"Buffy?  Luv?  Please tell me you're awake."

She jumped at the sound of his voice, jerking her head to look futilely behind her, eyes narrowed as they tried to cut through the darkness.  "Spike?" she called out.  "Where are you?  Where are _we_?  And why are you so far away and not holding me?  Or letting me hold you?"

He ignored her questions, but his voice remained distant.  "You have to try waking up again, pet.  Things are about to start getting bad around here."

She laughed, in spite of the ache in his tone.  "You mean, worse than almost going up in a blaze of non-glory, watching you get humiliated for something that wasn't even your fault, and then having to put up with not being able to get this bitch to open her mouth and tell your mom exactly what kind of monster she was married to?"  Her chest rattled, and she coughed, the muscles against her sternum aching.  "How much more do I have to watch here, Spike?  Because gotta say, I'm beginning to think this is one time I would've preferred to read the book than watch the movie."

"It's almost done."  The sense of finality in his voice was chilling, and Buffy felt her skin crawl in fear.  "Which is why we have to get out of here."

"Why do I hurt so much?"

She heard him move then, and though she still couldn't see anything in the pitch of whatever space she seemed to be occupying, all of a sudden, he was next to her, his hands searching her face, molding over the contours of her cheeks, fingertips hovering at the corners of her eyes.  Instinctively, she threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, and was grateful that she was herself, that she could hug him and hold him, and try to squeeze away some of the pain she knew had to be lingering from their recent excursions.

He didn't flinch within her embrace, instead letting his arms come up to cradle her against him, his face burying itself in her hair.

And it was then that she noticed.

For the first time since coming into his dreams, Spike's flesh was cold.

She had to steel herself not to pull away in surprise.  Instead, Buffy willed her muscles to relax, lifting her mouth to graze her lips over the line of his jaw.  "I'm so sorry," she murmured.  "I wish you'd told me."

For the slightest of moments, he stiffened, as if the expression of empathy was the last thing he'd expected to hear come from her lips.  "It's done," he said simply.  "All in the past.  Nothin' to fuss over."

"If it wasn't a big deal, then why did your brain shut it away so that I couldn't see it?" She kept her voice as gentle as possible, afraid that any hint of accusation would make him shy away.

"It was probably protecting you," he offered in explanation.  "No reason for you to know what makes no nevermind in the here and now."

"Or maybe it was protecting you," she countered.  "I _saw_ William's face, Spike.  I saw how hurt he was.  He felt…betrayed.  _You_ felt betrayed."

"No, that's---."

"They were wrong, you know.  They didn't…they shouldn't have said those things."

"Just a bunch of babble from a group of birds that meant less than nothing to me."

"And your mom?"  She had hoped not to drag Anne Burbidge into this, but he was refusing to give in to his pain.  "Was that babble?  Does the fact that she basically called you a failure mean 'less than nothing' to you?"

It was the mention of his mother that broke him, wrenching the sobs from his chest and turning his hands into claws as he clasped her to him.  His tears were slick where they fell against her neck, the despair that had been bottled within his lean frame loosing itself in a torrent.

Buffy's hands came up automatically to stroke his hair, making soothing sounds in the back of her throat, rocking him against her just as her own mom had done during more than one of the Slayer's crying jags in her youth.  "Sshhhh…" she crooned.  "It's all right.  I'm here.  Just…let it out."  Over and over again, repeating the phrases in a rhythmic litany that kneaded the muscles of his back in an attempt to massage the pain away.  She wasn't good at the comfort stuff.  Be strong Buffy, that's what she was.  But this was Spike, and he had done the same for her upon finding her mother's body, consoling her in her grief, lending her the strength to get through it.  Trying to do the same for him was the least she could do, especially since each sob seemed to smash her own heart into pulp.

"I…I…I…"  His voice hitched in his throat even as the sobs began to ease.  "I just…wanted her…to be happy for a change," he finally managed.  "I did…did…my best to make it up to her.  To make her forget him.  She deserved it.  But he was always there."  With each word, his strength returned, and though his crying had vanished, there remained a torture in the broken tone of his voice that ripped into Buffy like a razor blade.

"You were a good son.  What you did wasn't wrong."

"Maybe if that bitch Miss Owen had said even two words, it might not've hurt so bad.  But she didn't.  And she and Mother had this whole post-fire memorial for the bastard's sake.  Like losing him had ruined their worlds."

She had no idea what to say to that.  It boggled her mind that people could canonize memories to the point of non-recognition, and though she couldn't say she would ever tolerate such an abusive relationship herself, the fact of the matter was, she'd never really been placed in the position to do so.

"What happened to them?" she asked softly.  "To Melly and the baby?"

The mention of the child caused Spike to stiffen, and he pulled away from her, leaving her alone again in the darkness.  "I don't know about the little girl," he said quietly, and Buffy heard him begin to pace in circles before her.

"What do you mean?  I thought you said---."

"Miss Owen left my mother's employ shortly after the funeral.  The pair of 'em left for somewhere up north.  A fresh start, mum said.  I didn't see Melly again for ten years."  His movement stopped.  "That's why you have to get us out of here, luv.  Because this is where we're at now."

"Why?"  The dread that had been there when she'd first awakened in this portion of the memory trip returned, tightening around her chest.  "What did you do, Spike?"

*************

Nobody noticed her leave.

So wrapped up in their little spell---well, counterspell, or whatever the hell they were calling it---the little band of humans didn't even see her press back into the wall, slowly dematerializing so that it wouldn't catch their attention.

It was better that way.  Somehow, Dolly had a feeling that if Cort's boyfriend caught wind of what she was doing, he might have a few choice words to say about the matter.  Probably in the form of a spell.  One that would hurt.

He was not in the best of moods at the moment.

Still, Rupert was full of crap, she'd decided.  His nonsense about the dissolution of the spell via Cort's natural abilities was a product of mortal fear, and she wasn't going to stand by and watch him make a huge mistake just because he was being a little short-sighted, especially since she could smell the Soul Eaters getting even closer.  Problem was, the humans were too wrapped up in their magic to note the encroachment of the very thing they were trying to kill.  Just as well, she thought as her form solidified at her destination.  No way can Cort argue with me about going back if she knows how bad it's getting.

From the bed where she'd been resting, Cortina lifted her head, frowning slightly at her friend's sudden appearance.  "Is it over?" she asked, worry coating her words.  "Are Buffy and Spike all right?"

"They will be as soon as I get you back there," Dolly said.  "Strap yourself in.  You're going home."

*************

He never got a chance to answer her question.

"William?  Is that you?"

The sound of Anne Burbidge's voice drifted like a windswept feather into the dark space, and Buffy turned her head in its direction, hearing now the soft patter of footsteps that accompanied it.  The creak of a door was followed by the faint glow from a lit candlestick, and for the first time, the Slayer could see enough to tell that she was in some sort of kitchen, still Victorian, and that her dress was very much the worse for wear, torn and soiled as if she'd been in a fight.

On the other side of the room, Spike's outline tensed, his eyes morphing to glow in the ambient darkness before shifting back to their stormy blue, his gaze locked on the doorway.  "Yes, Mother, it's me," he replied.

Great, Buffy thought.  We're back to Mastervamp Theater again.  

Anne stepped inside, a gentle frown creasing her brow.  It was obvious, even in the dim orange flickers cast by the candle, that she had aged considerably since Buffy had least seen her.  Her long hair was now mostly gray, plaited to hang down her back, and the lines of her advancing years made her skin seem like crumpled parchment.  There was a slowness to her step, an almost inaudible wincing as she lifted and lowered her feet, and the Slayer noticed the softening of Spike's face as he watched her approach.

"Where have you been?" Anne asked him.  One tremulous hand reached out to touch his cheek.  "I have been most sick with worry.  When you did not return from the Addams' party, I feared the worst.  There has been talk, you know, of unpleasant occurrences in the streets once the sun has set.  I was frightened you had fallen prey to something…unsightly."

"I am fine," he assured.  "As you can see, I am in good health---."

"You are cold."  Her hand dropped from his face.  "I will make you a nice cup of tea…"  She turned then, and noticed Buffy for the first time, the lines in her forehead deepening as recognition slowly flared in her eyes.  "M-m-melly?" she queried, and there was a hesitancy, a shivery fear wavering that single word that brought clarity to the Slayer's confusion.

This was why Spike had wanted her to get them out.  Why he had feared for her safety.

And why his earlier counterpart was glaring at her with barely concealed hate, flashes of gold dancing in his aspect.

Carefully, Buffy rose to her feet, keeping her limbs as steady as possible, doing her best to maintain a modicum of dignity in her torn attire.  Why she hadn't been shuttled away so that Melly Owen could take control of this, she was only beginning to figure out.  It was probably for the same reason she hadn't been banished when William Sr. had forced his attentions on her.

Because Melly's actions and Buffy's actions would've been one and the same.

Confused, Anne turned around to gaze at her son.  "Why is Melly here?" she asked.  Her voice was harder, a slight note of admonition tingeing her question.  "Does this have something to do with your absence these past few days?"

"I have brought Miss Owen in order to show you something, Mother," Spike said.

"Were you attacked?  Is that why she appears so?  We must fetch the doctor---."

"We don't need a doctor."  His head swiveled to stare at Buffy.  "Do we, _Melly_?"

"But…I don't understand."  Anne gazed at the pair in perplexity.  "She has been hurt.  If you weren't attacked, who has done such a thing?"

"It was William."  Buffy kept her voice low, even, meeting the vampire's visage with a lifted chin.  "Does this make it better for you, William?  Does this make it all go away?"

"Be quiet!" he hissed, and she could see his control over his human face begin to falter.

Anne's hand had been moving to curl around his arm, but the force in her son's voice caused her to shrink back in fear.  "Why does she lie?  My William would never hurt---."

"_Your_ William," he spat, and the venom oozed from his pores.  "_Your_ William is a spineless worm, toadying to those around him because he is too frightened of his own shadow to stand up for himself."  He edged himself closer.  "Or did you mean your _other_ William?"  This time, his voice had dropped to a silky menace, forcing ice to run through Buffy's veins.  This was not a creature she was sure she had ever met.  This was a newly turned vampire, feeding ravenously from the years of guilt and hate that had plagued his mortal self, more dangerous, she thought, than even Spike had been when he'd first arrived in Sunnydale.  By that time, years had tempered the edges of his loathing, quelled the memories of his human self into a controllable footnote in his history.  She wasn't so sure that if she had met this incarnation of her lover with his current skills, he would not have notched a third Slayer kill to his bedstead.

"Is that who you wished me to emulate, Mother?" he asked.  "Your _other William?  The one who beat you.  The one who reveled in hurting others.  The one who shamed you by carrying on---."_

The sharp crack of her palm across his face split the air.  "You will _not speak of your father that way," Anne ordered, her strength returned in the face of his accusations._

"Why?" he argued.  "Because he _deserves_ that?  Please, Mother.  Admit this to yourself.  He has been in the grave for ten years now.  There is no viable reason for you to continue protecting him.  He never protected you.  That was what _I did.  That was _my_ duty.  And yet, _he_ is the one you defend.  Why is that?  Tell me.  Please, I beg you.  Why is that?"_

His tone had disintegrated to pleading, and for a moment, shame flickered across Anne's face, her head lowering as she found herself unable to continue meeting his eyes.  She glanced at Buffy.  "Please, William, this is not a conversation we should be conducting in the presence of those who are not immediate family---."

"I think the mother of my half-sister qualifies as immediate family."

Her head whipped up at that, jerking from Spike to Buffy, and then back to Spike again.  "Why would you say such a thing?" she demanded.

"Because it's the truth."  Before anyone could react, he had crossed the distance of the room, his hand lashing out to grab the Slayer by the throat, thrusting back and upward to pin her to the wall.  He smiled as she clawed at his hands, letting his vampire visage to slip into place as he watched her struggle to breathe.  "Isn't it, Melly?"

*************

Her nails were bitten to the quick from the amount of chewing she'd done in the past few minutes, and Dawn hurriedly pulled them away from her mouth when Willow finally looked up from the book.

"Ready," the witch said, and met the eyes of her blonde partner across the bed.

At the foot of the mattress, Giles stood with the gourd he'd rushed to get from Cortina's bedroom, poised to begin the spell.

Dawn didn't even pretend to be paying attention to the foreign words that spilled from Willow's mouth, instead locking her wide blue eyes on the sleeping forms of Spike and her sister.  Every inch of her was wound in fear that something was going to go wrong, that she'd somehow lose both of them as well as her mother.  So far, no request for her to choose had been made, but that didn't mean it might not still happen.  It wasn't fair; she was only fourteen.  Why was she supposed to be making these kind of decisions?

The magical energy began to crackle in the air, the gourd in Giles' hand starting to vibrate in resonance as the power increased.  

Dawn saw the flash out of the corner of her eye first, her head jerking automatically to see what it was, and gasped when she saw Cortina appear on the other side of the cavern.  "No!" she cried out, just as the gourd exploded in the Watcher's hand.

*************

Blackness.

Again.

And she still hurt, only this time a good deal of that pain was centered on her neck.

Her lungs burned as Buffy gulped at the cool air, grateful for whatever had happened to stop Spike from strangling her.  Had Anne dropped the candle?  Was that why it was dark?  But why would that have stopped the vampire?  It's not like he would've been shocked by the sudden lack of light.

Speaking of…

"Spike?" she called out, straining to hear anything that might give away where she was, or more importantly, where _he was._

What she got instead was a throaty chuckle.  

Female.

Fuck.

"_Soooo_ delicious," the Soul Eater crooned.  There was a sharp clap, followed by a blinding implosion, _something sucking away the darkness into a swirling vortex to reveal the vampire's unconscious form sprawled on an expanse of grass, the Soul Eater crouched over him, black clouds roiling in the heavens above them._

Buffy blinked, trying to focus on the sight before her, noting with satisfaction that she was no longer dressed in the period garb but in her more familiar leather pants and tank top.  She wasn't the only one though.  On the floor, Spike was in his usual jeans and t-shirt, while the demon that hovered above him wore an outfit identical to the Slayer's own.

"Get away from him, you bitch," Buffy growled, straightening in spite of the pain in her limbs and neck.

The Soul Eater laughed, letting her fingers trace over the vampire's cheeks, not even bothering to look up at the other woman.  "In due time, dark one," she singsonged.  "Once we have been sated…"

To be continued in Chapter 34: The Impulse of Thy Strength…


	34. The Impulse of Thy Strength

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy has witnessed firsthand how vamped William brought Melly back to prove himself to his mother once and for all, only to be jerked from the spell when Dolly ignored Giles' order and brought Cortina back to her caves, negating the spell and leaving Buffy and unconscious Spike alone with the Soul Eater…

*************

Buffy's nostrils flared as she took a step toward Spike and the Soul Eater.  "I said…get.  Your hands.  Off him."  Though her eyes were fixed on the pair in black, recognition of her surroundings finally broke through her worry.  Her dream.  When she'd first been warned of the Soul Eaters.  This was the same place.

"Did you like what you saw?" the demon asked, ignoring the warning.  "Was it a pleasant experience for you?  My poor William.  So lost.  So tortured because he felt abandoned by those he'd sought to protect."  Her blue gaze gleamed in the dark night sky as she looked up at the Slayer.  "He killed her, you know.  In front of his mother.  She tried begging for her life, and when that didn't work, she tried using the child to influence him.  'Would you rid your sister of her mother as well?' she cried out.  It was all far too melodramatic for words, let me tell you.  And then, when it was all over, darling mummy called him a monster and said that his actions were reprehensible.  Worse than anything his father had _ever done."  She laughed, and the crystal tones sliced into Buffy's flesh.  "He ran then.  He couldn't even bear to look at her, to see the disappointment in her face.  He loved her __so much, and she betrayed him.  Well, that's what he believed, at least.  It's a shame you had to miss it, though, but then again, you wouldn't have seen it anyway.  You would've been dead by that point."_

"Spike killed a lot of people before he got his chip," the Slayer said tersely.  "Vampire, remember?"

"And that does not bother you?"

"I'm not exactly dancing in the aisles about it, but that doesn't matter now.  He's changed.  He's…different.  And…why am I talking to you when I should be kicking your ass?"  She started to rush forward, only to stop when the Soul Eater's hand clawed against Spike's chest, fingers digging into the muscles as tiny droplets of blood began to bead the pale skin.

"Come any closer and I shall tear his heart out and eat it right before you," the demon warned.

The threat worked, stilling the Slayer's steps as she felt a gentle breeze begin wafting over her arms, resonating its gentle palpitations in synchronicity with her heartbeat.  Careful, she thought.  First step is to get that bitch away from Spike…

"He's out for the count," Buffy said out loud.  "You can help yourself to him any time.  Me, I'm just going to get more and more pissed off if you insist on messing with my boyfriend.  The smart thing would be to do me first, because let me tell you, you really don't want to go all Bond villain on me.  I'll kill you before you get to how you hatched your evil plot."

The Soul Eater smiled, cruel, cold.  "You will get your turn," it crooned.  "And you mustn't worry.  My William will still be here when we are done."

OK, not what she was expecting to hear.  "What's that?" she asked with a frown.  

"Vampire, remember?"  The demon's tone was a mockery of the Slayer's own words.  "He hardly needs his soul to subsist.  Of course, he won't exactly be William, either, or Spike for that matter.  He'll be more like…"  There was a pause, as its eyes flickered away, searching for the memory.  "…Kralik?  Was that the creature's name?  The one your Council sought to test you with?"

Dread settled in Buffy's stomach, weighing her spirits.  "How do you know about him?"

"You forget.  We have been a part of _your_ dreams as well, Slayer.  Shared in your memories.  We know as much about you as we do about my William."

"Stop calling him that!  His name is Spike!  And he is not _yours.  Not if I have anything to say about it."  She couldn't think about what the Soul Eater might do to him.  All Buffy knew was that she had to put a stop to this once and for all._

It laughed.  "But, my darling Slayer," it said, "how can you stop us if you are not here…?"

*************

The explosion embedded shards of the gourd's shell in Giles' hands, shredding his palms so that rivulets of blood dripped to the earthen floor of the cave.  Dawn's scream registered just moments later, and he turned his body, a grimace of pain contorting his face, to see Cortina and Dolly off in the distance.  Anger quickly replaced discomfort, and the Watcher dropped the remains of the gourd to the ground.

"What in blue blazes have you done?" he demanded from Dolly.

"The spell," Willow said, rising to her feet.  Her wide eyes were darting between the pair of newly arrived demons and Giles.  "I didn't finish it."

He held up his bleeding hands for her to see.  "I am well aware of that," he said tightly before his furious blue gaze slid back to stare down Dolly.  "I told you not to go get her.  Do you have any idea what you have done here?"

The smell of copper hung in the air, surging Cortina forward to stand before the Englishman.  Taking his hands in hers, she quickly scanned the slivered flesh.  "We need to get this attended to," she said, lifting her eyes to look at him.  "Let Dolly get Buffy and Spike out of here, while I---."

"Giles?"

The sound of his Slayer's voice both chilled the Watcher's bones and accelerated his pulse in excitement as he looked back over his shoulder to see Buffy struggling to sit up.  A tired hand rubbed at her eyes as Tara scooped her arm behind her back, assisting in the final few inches.

"Thank god," he muttered, and pulled away from Cortina, heedless of the injuries to his hands as he rushed to the side of the bed.  "Buffy, are you all right?"

"I'm…"  She didn't finish the thought, her hazel gaze landing on the pale form of the still-sleeping vampire beside her.  All remnants of her sleep vanished from her body as memories of the dream and the position she'd left them in came rushing back.  Ignoring the others, her hands shot out, grasping him firmly by the shoulders.  "Spike!" she called, shaking him.  "Wake up!  C'mon!"

"Buffy, it's all right."  Giles' voice was calm, and he had to fight the instinct to reach out and pull her away, his own blood beginning to trickle down his wrists.  "Dolly is here now.  We'll merely teleport you away---."

"It's too late for that!"  He wasn't moving, and somehow, the Slayer knew that nothing she was going to be able to do was going to rouse him from the deep slumber.  Something was wrong with him, something because of the magic, and now he was helpless to defend himself.  "That bitch is there, and she's already got him.  Or is starting to get him.  Taking him away now isn't going to do anything but leave his soul behind for her to snack on."

"What are you talking about?"

She shook her head, laying back down on the bed.  One hand traced the pale outline of his muscled arm, the worry darkening the grey-green of her eyes into a summer storm at sea.  "He was still unconscious when I woke up.  I think it's part of whatever broke Willow's spell.  God, and she was there, and she was back in control, and she kept making these threats."  Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them spill, turning her head to look at her Watcher.  "I have to go back to sleep.  I'm going to end this.  Here.  Now."

He knew there would be no arguing with her, and sighed, his shoulders slumping.  "Cortina will have to leave again," he said quietly.  "I will put you under myself this time."

She couldn't help the relief that flooded her face.  "Good," Buffy said.  "Because I've had just about enough of the angst-fest as I can handle.  If I'd had to watch one more hour---."

"What are you talking about?" Willow interrupted.  "You and Spike have only been asleep ten, fifteen minutes."

Buffy shook her head.  "No way.  I had to sit through that _whole_ party, bored out of my mind, and then there was the stairs, and the fire, and…no.  There's no way all that crap happened in ten minutes."

"They were dreams," Giles explained.  "They don't occur in real time.  They're condensed, and while it may feel like days may have passed, in actuality, it's only a few seconds, or minutes even."

"Does that mean…you…haven't done anything about Mom yet?"  Buffy let her gaze slide to Dawn's, and frowned when the teenager gave her an almost imperceptible shake of her head in denial.  "But there's still time…right?"

"Yes, but not very much.  Our window is closing."

For the first time, she seemed to notice her Watcher's wounds.  "When did you get hurt?"

The look he shot Dolly was venomous.  "When Willow's attempt to cease the spell she'd cast for Spike was interrupted," he explained.  "I'm fine."

The tiny squeak that escaped Dawn's mouth interrupted them, and Buffy turned her head just in time to see the scratches appear out of nowhere on Spike's chest, invisible claws digging into his flesh to leave scarlet trails in their wake.  Her breath hitched in her chest, fear of losing him gripping her in its thrall before resolve kicked itself back in.

"OK," she said, and her voice was firm, no evidence of her anxiety showing.  "This is what we're going to do."  She looked at Willow.  "You need to put me under again---."

"No, not Willow," Giles interjected.

"Yeah, not Willow," the redheaded witch concurred.  "I've made a big enough mess of things as it is.  I'm not feeling one hundred percent okie-dokie about not screwing this up even worse."

"No, it has to be you," the Slayer explained.  "I need you to arm me this time, though.  When I left, it was just me, Spike, the Soul Eater, and one lonely honking mountain.  I'm not going back there without a weapon of some sort."

"_I_ can do that," Giles argued.

"You have to get fixed up ASAP," Buffy said.  "Because you, Tara, and Dawn have to do the spell to get Mom back."

"Me?"  For the first time since returning to the caves, the teenager brightened.  "I get to help?"

"It requires three, right?"  She waited for Giles to nod.  "Then, yeah.  You get to help, Dawn."  Her eyes drifted to Cortina, who still stood at the foot of the bed.  "You're going to have to go away again."

The Vrolek nodded.  "I know.  I'm so sorry---."

"Don't be."  Buffy's face softened.  "If Willow's spell hadn't gotten stopped when it did, things were about to get pretty uncomfortable for me there.  And I think Spike would be more than a little upset if they'd gone much further, too."  She didn't want to think about how badly the vampire was going to feel as it was, knowing that he'd been responsible for what harm _had_ befallen her.  Right now, she just had to concentrate on getting him back, safe and sound.

Taking a deep breath, the Slayer stretched back onto the mattress.  "Let's do it."

**************

It was the same as she'd left---the knolls dotted with flowers bending slightly in the wind, the dark clouds beginning to roll in across the midnight sky---with a single exception.

Spike and the Soul Eater were gone.

"No," she breathed, the lone word floating away from her on the air, echoing into the breeze in infinite cries, and she began turning in place, her gaze searching the horizon for any sign of where they might be.  She couldn't be too late.  Though the wounds to his chest had worsened before she'd left, Spike had still been very much there, not a pile of dust.  Except, hadn't the creature said that devouring the vampire's soul wouldn't kill him?  Merely madden him, turn him into a crazed demon who probably would thrive on the pain the chip would provide when he tried to feed.  Not good.  

But she wasn't going to consider that possibility.  The Soul Eaters hadn't entered the caves yet; Dolly was adamant about that.  And there'd been no telltale odor like there had been when she'd encountered them in her home upon finding her mother's body.  No.  She was going to go on the belief that Spike was still all right.  Well, relatively all right, considering the pain he was probably in.  For his sake, Buffy hoped that he was still unconscious.  At least then, he could be oblivious to what was happening to him.

Finishing the circle, Buffy found herself staring back in the direction she'd arrived in, and her face immediately grew angry when she saw the portly figure of the guide who'd led her through Spike's memories standing before her.  A sword dangled from his hand.  "You!" she spat, and before she could even think, her foot lashed out, connecting solidly with his chest, sending him reeling to the ground with the weapon flying from his grasp.

She stopped, frowning.  She hadn't been able to attack him before.  Something was different.

He didn't seem fazed as he lumbered back to his feet, but there was no smile on his bland face.  "You are a very willful young woman," he said.  "Do you always hit first, ask questions later?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I believe you requested to be armed."  He leaned over, picking up the sword that he'd dropped before holding it out to her.  "I am delivering your weapon."

"Oh."  Buffy frowned as she took it.  "But…you were the one who was all messenger guy during Spike's dream.  I'm not back in it somehow, am I?"

"No.  I'm merely the manifestation of the magic that has been used on you by Miss Rosenberg."

With a roll of her eyes, the Slayer shook her head.  "She couldn't have manifested you as Brad Pitt?  Remind me to have a talk with her when I get out of here."

Around them, the wind began to quicken, lifting the ends of Buffy's hair to swirl gently across her cheek.  "You must hurry," the messenger said.  "They near."

"Hurrying's great and all, but in case you haven't noticed, Willow messed up again.  Spike's not around here---."  She never got to finish the sentence.  A clap of thunder almost completely coincided with the brilliant lightning that cleaved the air, startling the Slayer into looking up into the sky.  The clouds now completely covered the heavens, and she could feel the first faint drops of rain begin to fall, peppering her bare arms in hundreds of tiny pinpricks.  By the time she lowered her head again, the messenger was gone.

But she wasn't alone.

It had abandoned the form of Spike's mother, and now hung in the air before her, solid and yet not, neither male nor female, its palsied features accentuated by the ebony pools that glittered back at her.  At its feet, the vampire was crumpled into a heap, blood running in crimson stripes across his now-naked form, beginning to wash away with the onslaught of the rain.

"You are persistent," the Soul Eater said.  "But your efforts are futile."

"I don't think so," Buffy said tightly.  She raised the sword.  "Something tells me you might be partial to a little slice and dice."

"Though I think you're foolish, I must to admit to admiring your bravery.  It will sustain us for quite some time, I believe."

She was tired of its little word games, and launched herself forward, soaring over Spike's body to thrust the blade through the shoulder of the Soul Eater.  It was more solid than it appeared.  The sword cut clean through, sending both of them tumbling away from the vamp, and Buffy felt a shower of whatever the creature's blood spray against her face, mingling with the rain there.

Clutching its shoulder, the demon rose to its feet, black eyes staring at her in pained surprise.  "How?" it hissed.  "What is this?"

Buffy stood.  "It's called pain," she said.  "And it's something you're about to become _very_ well acquainted with."

*************

Willow watched as the trio huddled around Joyce's body.  She regretted not being able to be a direct part of it, but Buffy had needed to get back into the dreams as quickly as possible, and with Giles needing medical attention, there was no other option.  Still, her part was hefty, and she knew it.  It was just pointless wishing she could be everything for everybody.

Their voices were a murmur in the closeness of the cave, rising in volume as the winds that whipped around outside began to beat against the roof.  It had found a way inside, and the first hints of a breeze were beginning to lift the ends of their hair, fear creeping into their thoughts as they fought to rescue Joyce's soul before it was too late.  Just because the children of the wind were after Buffy and Spike, didn't mean that they might not decide to help themselves to the others while they were at it.  They just might be in the mood for an hor doeuvre before the main superhero course.

A blue glow began to form around Joyce's corpse, vibrating in rhythm with the chanting, growing to a swell that encircled the quartet.  Their words never stopped, never slowed, but even from where she was sitting next to the bed, Willow could see the excitement in the youngest Summers' body, her eyes glowing brightly in anticipation, her breathing quickening.

On the bed, Buffy twitched in her sleep, capturing the witch's attention for a moment.  Her gaze flickered to the wounds that now marred Spike's flesh.  The scratches had been joined by a series of burns along his arms, and though she was worried about his welfare, part of her was also relieved because nothing showed yet on the Slayer.  She figured that had to be good.  Unless it meant that Buffy hadn't reached wherever Spike was.  Then…

Even as she thought it, though, the tiny line of crimson appeared along the young blonde's brow, dripping down her temple to stain the pillowcase beneath her head.

Crap.  Spoke too soon.  OK, thought too soon.  Still…crap.

Behind her, the chanting stopped, and Willow tore her gaze to look back and see the blue darken to black, surging in a dangerous swell that knocked the three spellcasters to their backs.  Unconsciously, she jumped to her feet, but even before she was completely vertical, the glow was gone.

Dawn was the first to react, scrambling to her feet to gaze down at her mother.  She waited, wide blue eyes scanning the body, looking for a sign—anything---that would tell them that it worked.  Color…same, still ashen.  Eyes…same, still closed.  Chest…same, still still.  

Wait.  

Not still.  

She found herself holding her breath, riveted to staring at her mother's upper body, waiting for it to recur.

Seconds passed.

And there it was again.

The movement up.  And down.

Joyce Summers was breathing on her own.

*************

She had managed to get it distanced from Spike's still immobile body, and the pair fought in the rain, the Slayer armed, the Soul Eater not.  Only once had the demon made contact with the coldly focused Buffy, and the blood that now ran from the gash in her forehead colored her gray world in scarlet, clinging tenuously to her eyelashes before either a blink or the rain drove it away.

The Soul Eater was not as fortunate.  It had been unaware of its ability to be hurt within the dream, and even the first attack by the Slayer had not put it completely on the defensive.  Buffy had taken advantage of that, the sword slicing through the air in savage strokes that left screams of the creature's pain in its wake, driving her foe back, farther from Spike, weakening it with every blow.  She had yet to strike the fatal one, though, the weather doing its best to even the playing field, even if it didn't realize it.

"Be thankful you're not playing dress-up in Spike's mom anymore," Buffy said as she rolled out of the way of one of the Soul Eater's kicks.  "Because after everything that's happened tonight, I'm having some serious aggression issues when it comes to her.  You're getting off pretty lucky."  Her hair had fallen over her cheek, but she was oblivious to the annoyance.  She had only one goal at the moment, and personal grooming just didn't factor into it.

"Wouldn't that be apropos," the Soul Eater snarled.  "Although perhaps you would like this one better?"

It shimmered in the air, and Buffy hesitated as the familiar shape of Joyce appeared before her, the wounds she'd inflicted now marring the flesh of the woman who bore her, the anguish of torture screwing up her classical features.  "No," she whispered.  "You're not her.  I'm not going to let you do this."

"Buffy…please…"  It was Joyce's voice, and the first time the demon had invoked the Slayer's true name, turning it into an entreaty that made her attack falter.  "You kill me and we can never be together again."

"Not…true…" she replied through gritted teeth.  Except with it looking like her mother, she was no longer sure she could fight it.  Not after everything that had happened.  Could she be the one to strike her down dead?

Except it's not her, luv, she could hear Spike saying in her head.

It wasn't really him, she knew that.  His unconscious form was still sprawled in the grass, soaked through from the storm, and they'd never been able to communicate that way inside their dreams.  But she knew him well enough to know that's what he would say if he was up.  He would be there, standing at her right arm, helping her when she needed help, guiding her when she needed guidance, stepping back when she needed to step forward.  And he would not want her to give up now.

"Not her," she repeated and sent out a silent plea to her friends back at Cortina's that they had had enough time to attempt the resurrection spell.

One last look.  Lock the bitch's position in her head.  Memorize it.

Focus.

She closed her eyes, and letting her Slayer senses take over, lunged forward, feeling the sword sink into the soft flesh of the creature before her, shattering bone, slicing sinew, sucking at her arm as the weight impaled on the blade sagged to the ground.

Eyes open.

Focus.

Blink to clear the rain…the blood from her vision.

And see the palsied face of the Soul Eater staring up into the clouded heavens, the black eyes now dull, its blood flowing freely from the extensive wound in its chest.

To be continued in Chapter 35: From the Dim Verge of the Horizon…


	35. From the Dim Verge of the Horizon

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy has stabbed the Soul Eater in the dream, Joyce has started breathing again on her own, and Spike is still unconscious…

*************

The dust of the desert swirled in miniature cyclones from the forces of the wind, lifting and falling with its silent screams in a tango that seemed to never end.  All life had scattered, driven to shelter by the storm, cowering in fear from the monsters it housed.  Even the stars had hidden behind the gray cumulus coating the sky.

They were hungry.  The children of the wind had been denied satisfaction for longer than they had anticipated, and they were tired of waiting.  In angry swoops, they perforated the earth, sometimes ignoring the passageways into the caverns that sheltered the two they sought, using whatever ingress necessary to reach their repast, heedless of the damage they caused along the way.

This would be no delicate supper.  This would be a ravenous feast, and they would devour those who attempted to fight back until only husks were left.

This was the goal.

This was their right.

This was…

When it came, the wind seemed almost to hesitate, unsure all of a sudden as to which direction it should take.  Pain, the dark one called it.  New.  Not pleasant, and…how was this possible?  

The eddies began again, manic from an unaccustomed fear that succor would be denied, but its strength was lessened, as if something, some_one, somewhere, __somewhen, were draining the forces it needed to continue.  Another break, and the storm seemed to falter, the rain slowing to a gentle patter that coaxed the desert earth into submission, the thunder rolling away into the distance._

And then…

Silence.

*************

Feeling the air moving across their skin inside the cave was eerie, and each of the grotto's inhabitants---those that were awake, at least---felt their hearts begin pumping harder in response to the encroaching threat.  There was no more magic to be done.  Joyce was alive, if not conscious.  Buffy and Spike were asleep, presumably still battling with the dream form of the Soul Eaters.  And the rest of them waited, hoping against hope that they would not be forced to run should the children of the wind get too near.

Dolly was the first to notice.  Her head whipped to the side, eyes staring into the bowels of the cave, sniffing at the air like a dog on the hunt before the muscles in her shoulders relaxed.  "It's done," she murmured, a hint of surprised respect creeping into her words.  "Son of a bitch, the little Slayer actually did it."

Giles picked up on her speech, and turned from his vantage point next to Buffy, eyes narrowing behind his glasses.  "What did you…" he started to ask, only to cut himself off as the air in the cavern went calm.

"They're gone," Willow breathed.  She slumped in her perch at the bed, breasts heaving slightly from the nervous panting she couldn't seem to stop, the tension suddenly expelled from her lungs as recognition that everything was all right sank into her consciousness.  "It's over, isn't it?"

He wanted to believe, but Giles' gaze swept back to his charge lying asleep on the mattress.  A new bruise had formed on her cheek, joining the gash that had bled into her hair, yet she seemed to be sleeping peacefully, her body motionless where it curled protectively against the inert vampire at her side.  "Are you certain they're gone, Dolly?" he asked.  When the demon nodded her head, his own bowed, his eyes fluttering closed, and the deepest of sighs escaped his lips.  "Fetch Cortina, please," he quietly requested.  

With the Soul Eaters gone, there remained two courses of action before them.  He had promised Cortina to do whatever she wished in rescuing her children from the Council's control, but first, he had to wait.

He needed to see Buffy waken with his own eyes.

*************

She'd killed enough demons over the past few years to know when one was dead or not, but just to be sure, Buffy knelt down, searching the Soul Eater's body for any sign of life, wondering if she dared to trust her own eyes enough to walk away from it.  

A minute passed, and then another, and the wind that had been whipping around her disappeared, to be replaced by a satisfying calm that stroked the Slayer's skin like a mother's caress.  Firmly, she grasped the hilt of the sword that still protruded from the Soul Eater's chest, pulling it away with a sucking sound that was lost in the easing rain.

Still nothing.  She was calling this one dead.

The wet grass tickled her ankles as she ran to Spike's side, dropping to her knees so that she could run worried hands over his tortured flesh, hovering, afraid to touch lest the contact would make things worse.  Burns adorned his arms, marks from some brand of torment the hellbitch had inflicted while Buffy had been awake for that brief period of time, but those didn't worry her as much as the fact that the vampire was still out cold.

"Spike," she whispered, thin fingers tracing the bones of his unmarked face.  "You are going to be so pissed you slept through the grand finale.  OK, technically, we both did, but…you know what I mean."  There was no response.  "C'mon.  Wake up now.  You can't watch my back with your eyes shut."

There was not even a flicker that he'd heard her.  Rain pelted his brow, dripping onto his dark lashes, and she had to resist the urge to bend down and kiss the beads away.

"Spike," she repeated, a little louder, a little more frightened.  "Stop fucking around.  I didn't do all this to lose you, too."  Please, she added silently, as the tears began to swell in her eyes.  I need you.  Wake up…

*************

"…wake up."  Her lids lifted, stone sliding up on of its own accord, and she was staring into the shadows of Spike's neck, her body pressed against his side, that earthy smell that clung to his skin saturating her senses like a rich red wine.  From behind her, Giles' voice was a reassuring whisper, familiar and comfortable like a well-worn security blanket coveted from her youth.  She felt suddenly old, and closed her eyes again, tightening her arms around the sleeping vampire.

"You don't have to do this," Cortina was saying.  "With the information we got from Travers, Dolly and I can handle it on our own.  You need to stay here with Buffy.  I know you want to."

"The Soul Eaters are gone.  You've confirmed that.  The threat to Buffy is---."

"Gone, Giles."  Her voice was small, almost muffled against Spike's neck, but it cut through the Watcher's conversation as cleanly as if she'd yelled.  She felt his hand not quite touch her, the heat from his palm radiating into her skin, and sighed.  "And I'm fine.  You should help Cortina.  There's no telling what the Council might pulling."

"What happened?  I assume---."

"Can we do the show and tell on this later?" she asked, turning her head just enough to gaze up at him with weary eyes.  "Unless there's something I'm missing."  She waited for him to say something but was met with an uncomfortable silence.  "_Is there something I'm missing?"_

Cortina's hand squeezed reassuringly around Giles' forearm, coaxing him to speak.  "No," he finally managed.  "Nothing."  The smile he gave her was tight, but the relief that shone behind his spectacles was unmistakable.  "I'm just glad…you're all right."

"So go.  Time's a-wasting.  I'll be here when you get back."  Buffy didn't wait for a response, instead curling back into Spike's body, raining the lightest of feather kisses across the harsh line of his clavicle as her eyes lit on the scratches ravaged across his chest.  She barely heard them leave behind her, or see Dolly sweep by the end of the bed.  It was only when Dawn came to sit in the spot Willow had vacated that she tore her gaze away.

"The spell worked," the teenager said softly.  "We think.  Mom's…not actually awake.  But she's breathing, and that's important, right?  I mean, a breathing Mom is most definitely better than a non-breathing Mom."  Her blue eyes settled on Spike.  "I wish I could've seen you guys kick that Soul Eater's ass.  I bet Spike---."

"He wasn't there, Dawnie," Buffy said.  "He was completely out of it while I fought the thing."

All of a sudden, Willow appeared behind Dawn, her brow creased into a frown.  "Still?" she asked.  "Did he get knocked out, or was he---?"

"I haven't seen him awake since we were doing our little trip down memory nightmare lane."  Her eyes were moist as she rested her head, sweeping over the strong profile before lingering on the dark lashes, so long, so still, against the pale marble of his cheeks.  "Where are you, Spike?" she murmured.  "I miss you.  Come home."

*************

It felt like he'd been set on fire as he stumbled up the stairs, his hand gripping the post, fingers digging into the wood so tightly that splinters drove their way into the soft flesh under his nails.  He just wanted comfort, something to ease away the pain.  Why Spike thought he could find that on the front porch of the Summers' house was beyond comprehension.

Must still be part of the dream, he thought as he slumped against the jamb.  But that didn't make sense.  The dream had been about…

And his flesh crawled as he remembered the feel of Buffy's neck within his grasp, his powerlessness as he'd watched his newly-turned self taunt and torture the young woman.  It was exactly what he'd feared when he'd first heard his father address her at the house, and though nothing had happened, though something had stopped the power of the dream before he could do any real _physical_ damage, the shame that she had been hurt at his hands burned worse than the torture that hellbitch had inflicted afterward.  He had no doubts that Buffy would hate him when he walked out of this.  Or _waked_ out of this, rather.  How could she not?  She knew the truth now.  She knew that _nothing in him was good, never had been._

His hand was on the knob, ready to open it and let himself inside, when it turned within his grasp, revealing the smiling face of Joyce just on the other side of the threshold.  "Are you just planning on standing out on the porch all night?" she asked.  "The hot chocolate I made is going to be lukewarm chocolate if you don't get in here."

He followed when she turned away, shrugging out of his duster along the path to the kitchen---_when the hell had he gotten that back?---_and inhaled the comforting aroma of cocoa and sugar that coated the familiar space.  Without even thinking, he dropped his coat over the back of a chair before hopping onto the counter, exposing to her view the multiple burns that lacerated his arms.

Joyce grimaced in sympathetic pain as she handed over the steaming mug.  "Those look like they sting," she commented.

Spike shot them a glance before nodding.  "Got a touch for the torture, she does.  I'd almost be impressed if it didn't hurt so soddin' much."

"Try dying and having your soul get gnawed on for a couple days," she replied.  "It kind of puts my getting annoyed at Buffy and Dawn for bickering all the time into perspective."

They shared a quiet chuckle before sipping at their drinks, Spike's gaze downcast as he mulled over this change in his dream's venue.  "Buffy misses you," he finally said softly.  All right, so this Joyce was just a figment of his imagination, but it didn't mean he couldn't use the opportunity to try and convey some of what had been going on with his Slayer since finding her mother dead.  Or what had been going on with him because he sure as hell had missed the elder Summers lady as well.

"She misses you, too."

Not the response he was expecting.  Spike's brow furrowed in confusion.  "Not makin' much sense here, Joyce.  Me and Buffy split paths just a few minutes ago.  Don't know why, but it's probably for the best seein' as…"  He shook his head.  No.  He wasn't going to think about that right now.  "Never mind.  Point is, I'm not the one who's dead."

"Yes, you are."  The serious look on her face couldn't hold, however, and she almost immediately burst out into laughter.  "Spike, I'm kidding.  You're a vampire, remember?  Being dead is part of the package."

Relief flooded his system.  For a split second, he'd flashed that he actually _was dead, and this was some kind of afterworld, not heaven, not hell, but somewhere in between and Joyce was his own personal Charon.  "You almost had me there," he said with a smile.  "Nice to know you still have your sense of humor, even if this __is only a dream---."_

"Oh, this isn't a dream, Spike," she replied.  "I meant what I said.  She really is missing you.  I heard her say so."

"You couldn't bloody well hear her.  You're dead."

"I _was_ dead."  She smiled.  "I'm not anymore."

"Wait…"  The resurrection spell…his torture by the Soul Eater…his separation from Buffy now…she'd done it.  He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face.  His Slayer had actually done it.  No more Soul Eaters and Joyce back to boot.  Certainly called for a celebration.

"What happened?"  He was suddenly too excited to drink the coca, letting his cold fingers curl around the warm mug as his eyes searched Joyce's face.  "You said you _heard her?"_

"I can hear all of them," Joyce explained.  "Willow's there, and Dawn, and I heard Rupert for awhile, but he stopped talking not long after Buffy woke up."

"So, what's with the séance here?  Did something happen to me?  S'that why you're sayin' this nonsense about Buffy missing me?"

"It's not nonsense."  She stepped forward, leaning against the counter next to the vampire.  "And it's not a séance.  That would require one of us being awake, and as far as I can tell, it's not yet time for that for us."

"But you said you could hear them.  Or is that just some line you're feedin' me to keep me out of the loop."  He stiffened.  "Maybe you're just that Soul Eater and you're tryin' a new tactic.  Wouldn't be the first time it tried looking like you."  Except even as he said it, Spike didn't believe it was actually a possibility.  This Joyce was nothing like the Joyce from the playground.  He could see it in her eyes.  This was _his Joyce.  Funny, how he considered all the Summers women __his._

"Look, Spike…"  And it was the tone of her voice, that gentle roll of her words that felt like a warm arm around his shoulders, that caused his eyes to flutter shut, his head to bow.  "I'm not sure what exactly Willow did to you.  They're not…talking details.  Just…I guess something went wrong."

The vampire snorted.  "One of these days, I'm goin' to remember that askin' for Red's help in a magic spell never leads to anything good.  Little witch got me and the Slayer stuck in…"    Flashes from the past---Buffy's face stained with smoke as they stood outside his burning house, her eyes wide as she gulped for air when he'd pinned her to the wall---choked the words in his throat.  Wasn't Red's fault, as much as he would like to lay the blame for it at the feet of her hocus-pocus.  It was his, for asking in the first place.  For not having the nerve to just tell Buffy.  For fearing that she'd go back to seeing him as a monster.

"She loves you, you know.  You should hear her now."  Joyce smiled.  "This probably sounds awful, but I'm feeling rather proud of myself at the moment.  I've raised a pretty darn special girl there."

"That she is," he murmured, but he still couldn't lift his head to look at her.

"I know you think it's going to be rough when you wake up," she continued, "but it's only going to be bad if you let it.  Buffy trusts you, and more importantly, she _believes in you."  She nudged him slightly with her shoulder.  "Maybe it wouldn't hurt you so much to believe in _her_ just a little bit."_

His head jerked up, eyes blazing.  "I do---."

"Then stop trying to turn this into a one-man pity party.  I know that sounds harsh, and I know things were…rough for you…for both of you in those dreams---."

"How could you…you know about those?"

"I was there.  Kind of.  It's…confusing."  Slowly, Joyce sipped at her hot chocolate, eyes soft as they gazed into nothing.  "While they had me, it was like I could experience what they were experiencing.  So, I saw what happened to you.  What your mother...what she said.  What she did."  She shook her head.  "You can't blame yourself for the things she said, Spike.  Women in abusive relationships can't always see it for what it is."  In an attempt to lighten the mood, the smile she gave him was wide.  "I've watched enough Lifetime television to know that.  Heck, I'd bet _you've_ watched enough Lifetime to know that."

"Just Passions.  That's the only thing that goes on my telly," he said defensively, but her slight gibe was already easing his worry, his shoulders relaxing as the corner of his mouth lifted.

"Uh huh, yeah, right."

"So…if that's for real then, and Red managed to snatch you back for Buffy and the Bit…what the hell are you doing standing here gabbing to my sorry ass?"  He was too tired to continue trying to delude himself that this wasn't the real Joyce.  Everything about her screamed authentic at him and even if he didn't understand just what was going on, it didn't mean he had to be a bear about it to her face.  He was in her house, after all, and she'd only ever been nice to him there.  No axe-wielding of any kind had ever happened inside Casa de Summers.  Well, none from the matriarch aimed at his head at least.

"I'm not ready to wake up yet," she said simply.  "Do you have any idea how long it takes to recover from dying?"  Joyce chuckled.  "I just realized I get to join the club.  Do you and Buffy have cards or something for it?"  Her amusement grew at the baffled expression on his face.  "The coming back from the dead club," she elaborated.  "You came back as a vampire.  Buffy came back after the Master tried drowning her.  But I'm going to put my foot down about Dawn joining.  I think that's enough death in the family, don't you?"

Spike smiled.  He'd known he missed Joyce, but…god, he really _had_ missed her.  He couldn't wait to see the look on Buffy's face when she realized her mom was back, that she was going to get a chance to go on with her life as before, before soul eating demons had decided to chow down on what was nearest and dearest to her.  For a brief moment, he forgot about his own worry that she was going to turn on him, imagining the four of them as a unit---_hadn't Joyce included him in her little family description?_---and then reality came crashing back, his eyes dropping to his cooling chocolate.

"So why'm I here?" he asked.  "If you're workin' on patching up your soul before you have to face the lion den, what in soddin' heaven am I doin' taking up your precious time?"

"Because you're healing, too."  Her answer stunned him.  "And the way I figure it, home is the best place for that to happen."  Taking his cup from his hands, she turned in her place and dumped its contents out into the sink, rinsing it out under the running tap.  "I'm going to get you a fresh cup.  We've got so much to talk about and really not that much time."

"I thought…you said…"

"You're going to be waking up soon," Joyce explained.  "Believe it or not, you've done a lot of the work on your own.  I just thought you might like a little company while you finished up the job."  All of a sudden, the mug in her hand steamed, filled to the brim with velvety chocolate, a sprinkling of tiny marshmallows scattered across the top.  His hands shook slightly as he took it from her, and the vampire lifted his eyes, his head tilting quizzically as he searched her kind face.

"I like you, Spike," she said quietly.  "Buffy loves you.  And Dawn, well, Dawn worships the ground you walk on, so don't be taking advantage of that or I'm going to be investing in another axe.  But---and you have no idea how weird this is for me to say this---you're family.  And family looks after each other.  And so I plan on hanging out here for as long as you need."

Spike shook his head.  "You Summers women will never cease to amaze me," he commented.  "You do realize you've got bloody awful taste in men, don't you?  Buffy, especially.  First Angel, then that prat from the college…then Finn…hell, textbook tosser there if I ever saw one…and now me.  I'm not worth it, you know.  Wasn't worth it when I was alive, and sure as hell not worth it now."

"I thought we weren't having the pity party."

"It's not pity.  It's truth."

Joyce sighed.  "OK, so maybe you're not quite as ready to go back as I thought.  Just…know this, Spike.  You have such capacity in you for good, whether you want to admit to it or not.  I know, evil, I get that…but Buffy sees it, and Dawn sees it, and I saw it first, if you care to think back," she added with a wry smile.  "Truth is what you make it.  If you spend all your time chasing after ghosts instead of focusing on the here and now, the only thing you're going to be left with is air.  You can't change what happened, but you _can_ learn from it.  And you're a smart man.  _Think_ about what actually happened.  Trust me.  Have I ever steered you wrong before?"

Each word was like a satin bandage laid gently over his bleeding wounds.  "I still stand by Buffy's track record," he said, trying to joke, trying to see this through eyes that weren't blinded by tears.  "Bloody awful taste."

"That, I'm afraid, is my fault," she replied with a smile.  "It's in the genes.  Did I ever tell you about the time I dated a robot…?"

To be continued in Chapter 36: Spirit Fierce…


	36. Spirit Fierce

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  The Soul Eaters are dead, Spike and Joyce are still unconscious, and Giles and Cortina are off to rescue her children…

*************

He was almost more nervous now than he had been waiting to see if Buffy would wake up.  Seeing the two demons---_two children_, he had to remind himself---trapped within the stasis of the crystal, Giles couldn't help but feel the familiar sense of helplessness wash over him as he heard Cortina's sharp intake of breath from near the door.

"You mustn't approach until I have dissolved the field," he reminded her, a quick glance at her thrown over his shoulder renewing his wish that he could take her into his arms just one more time before doing this.  "Until the crystals are in proximity of each other, you're still in danger from its properties."

"I know."  Her voice was hushed, her pale eyes locked on the pair at the center of the room.  It didn't seem real, to be standing there, about to take the children she'd thought she'd never see again back into her life.  Well, hopefully, back into her life.  Part of her was terrified that once the protective field that had been sustaining them this past century was gone, they would disintegrate before her eyes, and she'd be left alone again, unable to even give them one last good-bye because they would be gone, scattered as dust to the air like a memory incapable of being grasped.

She wasn't the only one frightened.  As he approached the children with the crystal hanging loosely at his side, Giles' anxiety was betrayed by the faintest of tremors in his hand.  This was so far from any reality he'd imagined for himself.  Yes, he loved Cortina, and yes, he wanted her happy no matter what the cost, but what could he possibly contribute to her future, if she was fortunate enough to be able to share it with her progeny?  She'd been so insistent on his power to do good for them, but he was not so convinced.  He could barely guide Buffy at the best of times, and she was human; how would he fare with two children who weren't?

They seemed so peaceful as he stopped at the edge of the beds, youth captured forever in innocence lost, and Giles felt the knot within his stomach loosen.  Just children.  Nothing to fear.  The hand with the crystal rose, hovered over the crackle of the stasis field, and slowly lowered again to rest it upon its companion on the dais between the Vroleks.

The dissolution of the magic came with a small spray of silvery sparks, scattering to the floor in a delicate shower that vanished at the first contact.  From behind him, a gurgled cry came from Cortina's throat, and he heard her rush forward, joining him at the bedsides, leaning over to automatically scoop the form of the young boy into her arms.  He couldn't see her face, but he knew if he could, it would be streaked with tears, her small frame rocking gently against the mattress.

He turned his attention to the other child, the young girl, and watched as the fragile rise and fall of her chest hitched for a moment, causing his own heart to constrict momentarily, before beginning its up and down motion again.  Alive.  She was alive.  Quentin had been wrong.  She seemed to be breathing satisfactorily on her own, and gently, Giles leaned forward, a long hand reaching to smooth back the hair from her forehead.

The contact of skin meeting skin was compounded by the careful lifting of the young girl's eyelids, excruciatingly slow as if weighed down by her years of slumber.  There was a moment of blankness, but almost immediately, cognizance lit her from within, locking on the face of the man above her.

The Watcher froze, captured by her aspect.

She had Cortina's eyes.  That could've been Cortina staring back at him.

And in the space of that single second, all his doubt fled on gossamer wings.

"We must get them out of here," Giles murmured, unable to tear his gaze away from the child before him.  "I don't trust Quentin's claim that we won't be in danger."

From her vantage by the door, Dolly straightened.  "Where to?" she asked.

Cortina turned her head to see the Englishman carefully scoop the frail form of her daughter into his arms.  Their eyes locked, hers shimmering, his finally understanding, and the corner of her mouth lifted.  "I'd like to go home now," she said softly.

"Home," Giles repeated.  Both of them knew it wasn't the location of it that mattered; it could've just as easily been Sunnydale as Cortina's caves.  What mattered was that they would be going there together.  "Yes.  That sounds like an excellent idea."

*************

She had moved him into their old room at Cortina's, waiting for him to awaken.  Willow had explained what exactly had happened while they'd been asleep, complete with Giles' theory about their souls going into a sort of limbo, but Buffy had to admit that none of it really made any sense to her.  All she knew was that Spike was asleep, and she was awake, and she was less certain than ever that she was ever going to have him back again.

He wasn't the only one still out of it.  Though Joyce was breathing, she remained in what resembled a coma, and Dawn was standing vigil at her side, waiting just as Buffy was, ready to alert anyone should the eldest Summers woman show signs of regaining consciousness.  They had known this would be a danger in trying the resurrection spell, and surprisingly enough, Dawn was handling it quite well, taking the burden of worry about their mother away from her older sister so that the Slayer could concentrate on Spike.  Not that that really worked for Buffy.  She was still deathly afraid for Joyce.  But, having someone else do the hovering for a change allowed her to be there for the vampire without fear of missing something should it happen.

It had been almost two days since Buffy had killed the Soul Eaters.  When Giles had returned with Cortina, the first thing he had done was go to his Slayer's side, confirming she was all right, helping her in transporting Spike and Joyce to more comfortable quarters.  Though the urge to talk with him about what she had learned about Spike was great, Buffy stifled it, partly because she was reluctant to divulge the vampire's secrets without his permission, partly because she saw his growing distance from her once he realized she was well.  Cortina's children were awake, but frail, not speaking, and Giles very obviously wished to be at his lover's side in tending to them.  So she let him, watched him hurry away, and felt an odd pang of sorrow as he did so, as if a door had been closed between them.

The first thing Buffy had done when it looked like Spike wouldn't be waking soon was go to sleep herself, hoping that she could reach him within their dreams as she had done before.  It hadn't worked.  Only everyday, normal dreams greeted the Slayer once she drifted away, and no amount of searching on her part revealed any sign of the vampire, conscious or not.

This is what frightened her more than anything.  Though she had latched on to the explanation that maybe the battle with the Soul Eaters had severed the connection they had shared, that _that_ was why she couldn't find him now, part of her dwelled on a different possibility, one much bleaker, one that shadowed her world in gray and forced her to consider what returning to the Hellmouth alone might be like.  

Perhaps there was nothing left there for her to find, she thought.  Perhaps the interruption of Willow's spell destroyed the essence of Spike's mind so that all I'm left with is this shell.  What would I do then?

So she waited, tending to his wounds until they were gone, talking to him as if he could hear every word she said, curling against him when she grew tired of just sitting there.  The touching almost made it worse, an aching reminder that what she missed was the spirit of the vampire, not his body, and wished that he would just open his eyes and say something horribly inappropriate to her, maybe chide her for being foolish, or drop a sexual innuendo about their current positions…anything.  She just needed to hear his voice.

When it came, it came as a whisper, the slightest of currents floating through the strands of her hair as she rested her head on his chest.  "You smell like rain," Spike murmured, and moved for the first time in two days, lifting just enough to nuzzle the top of her head.

"Spike?" Buffy whispered, stiffening in disbelief against him.  Slowly, her neck twisted, turning to gaze back at the blond vampire, seeing his dark lashes seem even starker against his sunken cheeks, reminding her yet again that he hadn't eaten in as long either.  She almost thought that she was hallucinating; it certainly wouldn't have surprised her after everything that happened over the past few weeks.  But there he was, head moving almost imperceptibly as he drowned himself in her scent, and she felt her world begin to glow again with hope.

Almost afraid to try, Buffy opened her mind, allowing a tenuous filament to stretch into the darkness between them, and immediately was met by a glorious light, a vibrant dance of reds and oranges and yellows that burned into her retinas, making her blink even though it wasn't tangible.  The link was still there, and somehow, stronger than before, and before she could even think, she had flipped herself around, smothering him with her body, burying her face in the hollow of his neck as she clung to him.

"Don't you _ever_ do that to me again!" she demanded, her voice muffled against his skin.

Spike chuckled.  "Good to see you, too, pet."

Though his arms came up around her, Buffy could feel the weakness in his muscles, the tendons tremoring from the mild exertion, and carefully lifted herself away to look down at him.  "You need to eat something," she said.  "You've been out of it for two days."

"That it?"  His brow furrowed.  "Huh.  Would've sworn it felt like longer."

"That would be whacked out dream-time for you," she explained.  "Know all the memory stuff?  Only took about ten or fifteen minutes, according to Willow."  As she started to push herself off, his arms tightened, stopping her motion.  Her hazel gaze was curious when she looked back at him.  "What?"

"Don't go yet," he said softly, eyes fathomless.  She could feel the gentle need rolling off him and softened as he added, "Food's not nearly as important as us…talking."

The question in her mind reached out and she saw him physically wince at the contact, lids fluttering closed as he rested his head back against the pillow.  "Know it's easier that way, luv," he said, "but can we not play at the head games for now?  Just a bit knackered, is all, and after everything…"  He let the thought trail off, knowing instinctively she would understand what he was referring to.

"Sure, whatever you say, Spike."  Small teeth worried at her bottom lip as Buffy just watched him, perching her chin up on her hand as she felt his presence along the outskirts of her consciousness.  With his eyes closed, it would've been simple to mistake him for sleeping again, but the reassuring caress of his thoughts drifting around hers told her otherwise, lulling her into a fresh comfort that had escaped her for what seemed forever.  "What did you want to talk about?" she asked.

He took a long time to answer her, and she wondered if he was selecting his words, fearful that the wrong ones would provoke an unwanted response.  When he finally spoke, his eyes opened, blue boring into her with a gravity that could've been William's, and she found herself musing on how much of the young Victorian remained within the vampire's mind.

"I feel like a right prat for havin' to ask," Spike said, his tone solemn, "but…Red's spell…I know it didn't run its course like I expected and I'm sorry for that.  If I could go back and change it, I would.  But…what you saw…what I…what I did."  His voice broke slightly as he stumbled over his words.  "Does it change anything?"

"You mean…do I still love you?"  The downcast of his lashes was the only affirmation she needed.  Gently, she lifted her free hand and began drawing imaginary letters along his bare chest.  "My feelings aren't on tap like hot and cold water, you know.  I can't just turn them on and off whenever I want."

"But…what happened…it might color them."  He paused.  "And I just need to know if---."

"If anything, it makes me love you all the more," she said.  And it was true.  She'd never have thought it possible before, but being alone with him over the past two days had given Buffy time to assimilate what had happened, and more than ever before, she found herself respecting the vampire for what he'd had to endure.  Some people took pain and used it as an excuse to turn themselves into monsters; others, like William, did what they could to make themselves stronger.  Though she doubted pre-vamp Spike would've agreed with her, she saw his attempts at creating beauty in the world admirable, his desires to assure the safety and happiness of those he cared about---even to his own detriment---worthy of deference.  

"What you had to go through," she continued.  "I can't even imagine how you were as strong as you were.  If my mom…"  She stopped, shook her head.  She didn't want to have to think about Joyce at the moment.  It was Spike time.  He deserved her full attention.  "Not the point.  The point is, I didn't see anything in your memories that shocked me any more than some of the other things you did, Spike.  I mean, knowing what you were feeling when you killed those other Slayers?"  She grimaced, her tiny nose wrinkling in distaste, her mouth a tiny moue as she tried to show him she was teasing.  "Just a tad higher on the ick factor, if you ask me."

"That was different," he argued.  "That was me, all evil and bein' Mr. Vampire.  What you saw…that was William.  The _man_.  There's no excuse for that."

"William made a _choice_.  A pretty hard one.  And as far as I'm concerned, the _right_ one."

"How can you say that?  I killed my father, Buffy."

"So did Angel."

"But as a _vampire_.  I did it as a _man."  He was starting to get agitated.  "There's a world of difference between the two, and don't you go blinkering yourself into sayin' there's not."_

"I'm not.  But...innocent baby or violent sadist?  I don't really see how you could've done it any other way.  I was there, remember?  There was no way you could've saved both of them."  Buffy grabbed his chin, forcing his head to turn so that he had to look at her.  "I would've made the exact same choice."

She expected the silence that followed her statement to have been uncomfortable, but for some reason, Spike accepted her words at face value, taking them in with the absorbency of a dry sponge and allowing them to calm his nerves.  "I killed Melly, you know," he finally said softly.

"I know," Buffy said.  

"How?"

"The Soul Eater told me when I was trying to kill her.  Not that that thrills me, but…I get it.  The why, I mean."

"I didn't touch…my sister."

"I know that, too.  And it changes _nothing_, Spike.  I love you now, I'm going to love you tonight when we finally get to curl up and have a decent night's sleep, and I'm going to love you tomorrow when the sun comes up.  Does that finally answer your question?"

His reply was a gentle kiss feathered across her brow, his hands sliding to her armpits to pull her up his body, stretching her out on top of him so that their eyes were level.  "I'm so sorry," he murmured.

Buffy sighed, leaning her forehead against his.  "Stop apologizing.  You don't have anything to be sorry about."  Her lips brushed against his as her arms came up to curl around his shoulders.  Before she could deepen it, though, Spike had pulled himself away, forcing her to look at him as he spoke.

"Yeah, I do," he said, and though he had protested earlier about exhaustion preventing him from allowing her full entry into his head, Spike lowered the barriers around his emotions for a moment so that she could understand why.  "I should've trusted in you from the get go.  You gave me that courtesy, even before you said you loved me, and here I go, thinkin' you can't do the same."

"It's all behind us," Buffy murmured, grateful for the few seconds in the maelstrom of his feelings that he allowed her.  "Nobody said this was going to be easy.  Heck, I'm the queen of difficult relationships, so I should know what I'm talking about here.  What's important is that we try and not keep making the same mistake.  Not that that's the voice of experience, but hey, it always sounds good when Mom says it, so I figure…what the hell."

"Sounds good to me," Spike agreed.  "Always thought your mum had her head on straight.  Nice to know some of it got passed on."

The mention of Joyce brought a sad gleam to the Slayer's eyes.  "She's still not conscious," she said quietly.  "The resurrection spell worked in that she's at least alive, but we don't know if she's going to wake up."

His hand brushed back the hair that fell over her cheek, his touch tender.  "She will," he assured.  "Don't you fuss.  She's goin' to come out of this, and the lot of you are goin' to go back to bein' the same bunch of infuriating Summers women that I love so damn much."

She believed him.  She wasn't sure why, maybe it was the warmth that radiated from his thoughts, the belief that he knew something more than he was sharing at the moment suddenly overwhelming.  Regardless, Buffy nestled down against him, closing her eyes as she let the fears and worries wash away.

Things weren't going to be easy.  They still had to deal with the issue of Glory when they returned to Sunnydale, and there was still the inherent problem in dating a vampire in the first place---although she was sure Giles was going to have a field day delving into the issue of Spike's newly re-acquired soul---as well as the usual issues in just having a relationship, period.  But, in spite of all that, Buffy didn't fear that she and Spike were going to fail in overcoming them.

Because they had faced their ghosts.  Battled them together.

And won.

Their love didn't mean life wasn't going to be trouble-free.

It meant she didn't have to face those troubles alone, that he would share his strength with her, while she did the same for him, and together, they would beat the problems away, saving their friends, saving their family, saving the world.

She couldn't have asked for anything more.

The End


End file.
